


Hello, My Name Is

by attackonnicole



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Slow Build?, coffee shop AU, constructive criticism is very very very welcome, other characters will be added as it goes along, pls hit me up if you're willing to beta my poor story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attackonnicole/pseuds/attackonnicole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil Greenleaf is the reclusive owner of Woodland Coffee and Books, reluctant to face the outside world ever since the death of his wife twelve years ago. He downs three cups of coffee in the morning, serves customers until closing, and then attempts conversation with his son before giving up and reading until the ungodly hours in the morning. It was a simple routine, albeit the lack of proper social interaction. This all grinds to a halt when the door to his shop opens one rainy afternoon, and in steps Bard Bowman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. payphone

**Author's Note:**

> this is based off of a fantastic post on tumblr that I love bc the pictures that the original creater added are just beautiful: http://elvishallure.tumblr.com/post/113791869476/barduil-modern-coffee-shop-au-thranduil-the

_I’m at a payphone, trying to phone home, all of my change I spent on you._

* * *

 It wasn’t a known fact that Thranduil liked Maroon 5. Actually, nothing about Thranduil was a known fact to anybody, even his son. The man was secretive, _reclusive,_ and he was careful to exchange up-to-but-not-exceeding ten words with anybody (as said by one Bilbo Baggins during their _very_ brief conversation when Mr. Baggins stopped by last week).

Thranduil despised social interaction, plain and simple, which was really quite unfortunate because he owned a coffee shop.

It was a Tuesday. Thranduil stirred under his comforter, and blearily opened one eye, groping for his phone to shut off the alarm as Adam Levine’s voice drifted from the tiny speakers. The music abruptly stopped as he swiped his finger across the screen, and Thranduil pushed himself up, blond hair slipping past his shoulders. Glancing out the window, he grimaced at the wet drops dotting the glass pane and reluctantly pushed his covers aside, heading to the bathroom to begin the morning rituals.

Shower. Brush teeth. First cup of coffee. Dress. Turn on the news. Second cup. Read another chapter, or five, from his latest book.

By the third cup, Legolas was up and padding sleepily into the kitchen, a murmured ‘good morning’ in his wake as he made his way over to the fridge, emerging with an orange in hand. Thranduil was absorbed in his book at this time, and barely noticed his son’s presence in the room until he heard the chair scrape back across the polished floor.

“Oh.” He looked up from the page, taking a moment to focus on Legolas’s face. “Good morning.” The boy only nodded, dutifully peeling the orange in silence. Thranduil marked his place with his finger, closing the book but unsure if he should pick up conversation. He cleared his throat. “Are you staying after school again today?”

Legolas nodded again, although he replied as well this time. “Archery season started last week.” After it was clear that he wasn’t about to say anything past that, Thranduil gave an acknowledging nod. “Notify me if anything happens,” he said, even though nothing ever happened, and Legolas never notified him if anything did. Thranduil opened his book again, and Legolas shoved an orange slice in his mouth.

* * *

 Thranduil opened his shop at precisely eight am, flipping the small wooden sign to _open_ before retreating behind the counter. His shop was popular enough to garner its own group of regulars coming in and out every day, and so by the time lunch rolled around the café was buzzing with quiet conversation and the on and off whirr of the coffee machine.

“Ah, Thranduil. How good to see you again.”

Thranduil looked up from the latte he was pouring cream over and set the little cup down. “Gandalf,” he replied shortly. It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ Gandalf, really, but the old publisher had an unfortunate habit of sticking his nose into affairs that didn’t pertain to him and –in Thranduil’s opinion– making them worse. “How may I help you?”

Gandalf looked just as Thranduil remembered him when they first met, many years ago, which fueled his theory that the man was some type of supernatural being and not human at all. Once, when Legolas was younger, the boy had asked him if “Mr. Grey was a vampire.” He was tall, although not as tall as Thranduil, his frame covered by a dark peacoat that was dotted with drops of water. Thranduil peered past him for a moment to the window, noting the rain. It had been unrelenting all day.

“Ah, the rain,” The elder remarked, following his gaze. “Dreadful, isn’t it?” His tone did not match his words at all. “To think that it was so sunny yesterday, too.”

“Now, for my order…” he continued. “…I shall have whatever you want to give me,” he finished after a long pause, during which Thranduil stepped to the side to deliver the latte to the customer waiting. He nodded at the request, already moving to start the drink. _Peppermint mocha._ It was all reflexive at this point, years of making drinks of all types ingrained in his mind. _“Child’s play,”_ his father used to say when Thranduil was younger. _“After a while, you just don’t think about it anymore.”_

“How have you been?” Gandalf asked after setting the money by the register. “Business appears to be well, from the looks of all these people.” Thranduil inclined his head in acknowledgment, not looking up from his hands. “The same as always,” he stated, carefully pouring the coffee into a mug. He was determined to keep to his “ten words and under” rule, but Gandalf seemed equally determined to make him break it. “How about your son? It’s been a while since I’ve seen him,” the publisher commented, refusing whipped cream. “He’s in high school now?”

Thranduil set the mug on the elevated counter. “He’s fine,” he responded, ignoring the second question and fully expecting ( _hoping_ ) the other to take the drink and leave. But Gandalf only turned the mug so the handle was facing him, and stayed stubbornly rooted to the spot, eyeing Thranduil with piercing blue eyes. Thranduil hated talking to Gandalf because of this very reason – Gandalf always seemed to look right through him, through his short responses and white lies, with those eyes, and it _unnerved_ Thranduil.

“How many years has it been?” The publisher asked, quieter this time. So quiet that Thranduil thought for a moment he imagined the question. He clenched his fists, hidden behind the counter. “…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A lie. Thranduil knew exactly what Gandalf was referring to, and Gandalf knew that he knew.

“You cannot continue your life like this, Thranduil.” His expression was stern, but Thranduil could see the pity hidden in the wrinkles. He hated the pity. It was one of the reasons why he stopped talking to other people voluntarily.

“I can,” he countered. “And I will. The fortunes of the world may rise and fall, but here in this family, we will endure.” He reached up to scoot the mug closer to Gandalf. “Your coffee is getting cold. It would be a pity to waste it.” Still the other man did not take it. _Goddammit, Gandalf_. The publisher shook his head lightly. “Not forever. I think you shall find that out in the future, whether you want it or not.”

Thranduil remained resolute and did not deign his statement with a reply. “Your coffee.” He said with a note of finality. This time Gandalf took it with a nod of thanks and retreated to a table by the window. “Give Legolas my regards.” Were his parting words, and Thranduil breathed a silent sigh of relief when he was gone. Somewhere deep within his consciousness he knew that Gandalf was right – he couldn’t keep living a lifestyle where breaking his ten word rule made him want to hurl himself out the nearest window, where taking a trip to the grocery store was so strenuous that he had to hire someone to do it for him. It wasn’t fair to Legolas, at least, and Thranduil knew that. He was reminded of it every time he tried to communicate with his son, and failed. _It’s twelve years too late_ , he reminded himself, cleaning the coffee machine mindlessly. _You had your chance when he needed you most, and you failed._

* * *

 His hand twitched, and water splashed from the cup in his grip to the smooth wooden floor. Thranduil sighed, and checked that he wasn’t needed in the café before fetching a rag and crouching down behind the counter. The bell on the door jingled a few seconds later, and footsteps approached the counter moments after that, signaling that there was a new customer. Thranduil glanced at the clock, noting that it was two pm now. Haldir usually came in around this time, and Thranduil guessed that it was his old friend, throwing the rag into the bucket in the back before straightening up.

It was most certainly _not_ Haldir.

“Nice throw,” the customer remarked. At that moment, Thranduil was grateful for his silent reputation, because any words he would’ve said in reply died at the back of his throat. The man standing before him could’ve been the poster boy for the phrase, _Tall, dark, and handsome_. He was almost eye level with Thranduil, with dark hair swept back and curled at the ends. His face was pleasant, the laughter lines around his mouth showing how much he smiled. The man was even smiling now, although he looked a little more confused when the silence between them dragged on. He was dressed in a fitting wool overcoat, a dark knitted scarf would around a pale neck. He had a trimmed moustache, which made Thranduil’s lips quirk up slightly. He considered moustaches a hit or miss, and while most of the time they were a miss, this man was most definitely a _hit_.

“Hello?”

Thranduil stopped staring at the way water was dripping off the ends of the man’s hair. “Yes, may I help you?” As if he hadn’t spent the last minute ogling him. _Wait, what?_

“Could I order a coffee? It was kind of cold and wet out there. Sorry – I’m dripping all over your floor right now, I forgot my umbrella.” The man smiled apologetically, and Thranduil was tempted to reassure him that _it was totally fine, I’ll clean it up in a moment, order anything it’s on the house, do you want to borrow my umbrella?_ But none of these words escaped his lips, only, “What would you like?”

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome glanced behind Thranduil at the menu. “A cappuccino, please. For here,” he added after a moment of contemplation, and ran a hand through wet locks. Thranduil swallowed and rang him up, noting that their hands didn’t brush when exchanging the money. He started the drink, told himself not to glance up, and was successful for the most part. That is, until the man started _talking_ to him.

“This place yours?”

The voice startled Thranduil out of his coffee-making trance, and he had to quickly put the milk down to avoid splashing it on his hand. “Sorry,” the man apologized again. Thranduil shook his head, then remembered that he wasn’t a regular, and therefore wouldn’t know Thranduil’s cues. “It’s fine,” he stated, picking the milk up and bringing it to the frother. “Yes, I own this shop,” he replied to the man’s earlier question, having to speak up over the loud screeching of the machine.

“You work by yourself?”

Thranduil gave a short nod and released the frother spout, pouring the milk onto the coffee. When he looked up the man had a surprised expression on his face. “What?”

“I just…I’ve heard much about your café, so I had assumed that it would be a bigger team than one single person behind it’s popularity,” the man chuckled, scratching a scruffy cheek sheepishly. Thranduil found the gesture rather adorable, then squashed the thought as quickly as it had come. “How do you handle it?” Tall, Dark, and Handsome added curiously. “It must get busy in here frequently.”

“I manage,” Thranduil replied shortly, and lifted the wide-rimmed cup to the counter, complete with its own saucer and spoon. “Books are free to read at your choosing,” he stated, referring to the copious amounts of books in shelves lining the café walls. “Enjoy.” With that, he started clearing the machine, fully expecting the man to walk away.

He didn’t.

Thranduil briefly wondered what god he must have offended to curse him with _two_ customers that refused to leave him alone (although to be honest he wasn’t really objecting to the latter). “Hold on,” the man said, fingering the cup. “Before I go, what’s your name?”

Thranduil frowned. “It’s polite to introduce yourself before asking others for their names,” he remarked before he could stop himself. The man paused in surprise, then laughed. “Aye, that’s true. Forgive me.” Thranduil noted the slight slip in his accent and tried to guess what it was. _Irish? Scottish?_ “The name’s Bard. Pleased to meet you, Mr…?”

“Thranduil,” the blond replied quietly, lifting his hand to meet Bard’s. He had a firm handshake, and Thranduil tried not to think about how warm it was, or the last time he had held another person’s hand. _Many months ago. Perhaps even a year._

Their hands lingered just a second longer than what someone would deem normal, and Thranduil reluctantly pulled his away when Bard did the same. “Thranduil,” Bard repeated, as if trying it out, and Thranduil found that he rather liked the way Bard said his name with that slight accent of his. “Wonderful.”

Thranduil only nodded, could only nod silently, and Bard finally picked up his cup and saucer. “Thank you,” he smiled, turning to find a table. Thranduil did not give him a reply, and escaped to the back room, heart in his throat. He leaned his head against the wall and breathed in and out deeply, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw spots. Exhaling one last time, he straightened up and decided to take stock, telling himself that it had to be done eventually and he was most definitely _not_ hiding from Bard. He repeated this to himself as he picked up the clipboard sitting on the cabinet.

When he returned to the storefront in response to the bell on the counter, Bard had already gone. There was a white piece of paper stuffed in the tip jar, and Thranduil cautiously fished it out, like he expected it to bite him or something. Scrawled on it in slightly messy handwriting was:

_The coffee was delicious. It was a pleasure to meet you._

_Bard_

Thranduil didn’t know whether to smile or grimace at it.

 _Wonderful, indeed_.


	2. the kids aren't alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to http://genocidalfridgemagnet.tumblr.com/ for betaing this chapter! YOU DA BEST.
> 
> Another big thank you to everyone who left kudos, comments, and bookmarked!! I never thought that this fic would receive that much attention /tear

_It twists my head just a bit to think, all those people in those old photographs I’ve seen are dead._

* * *

The next time Thranduil saw Bard was a week later, on a Wednesday. The rest of the week had gone by in a daze, Bard’s note sitting on Thranduil’s desk like a bomb waiting to explode. He had avoided looking at it for a good two days, shoving it inside a drawer once he got home the first day. On Friday night he finally gave in and picked it up, rereading those twelve words over and over until the shapes of the letters of Bard’s signature were ingrained in his memory.

When the man didn’t come in for the rest of the week, Thranduil almost thought he had imagined the entire encounter, if it weren’t for the note. He wasn’t exactly sure what had come over him – it had been many years since someone was able to catch his attention in that way. After the death of his wife, Thranduil was sure that he would never feel the same way about another person as he did her; in fact, he went to great lengths to prevent that from happening, not wanting to replace her with someone lesser. He had no more room left in his heart for another person.

And yet he found himself looking up whenever the door opened every day, still hoping to see dark hair and a smiling face – only to be disappointed. _It’s already been a week,_ he admonished himself sternly whilst pouring coffee for a customer on Wednesday. _He was just trying out a place someone suggested, and was being friendly on top of it. Give it up._ _Why are you thinking about him so much, anyway?_ However when the door opened again, he couldn’t help but look up expectantly.

It was only Tauriel. He bit back a sigh.

The disappointment must have shown on his face though, because Tauriel raised an elegant eyebrow. “I didn’t think my presence was _that_ unwanted,” she quipped, approaching the counter. Thranduil frowned at her, folding his arms across his chest.

“What?” He asked, feigning ignorance.

“Don’t lie,” she said, mimicking his action. “You looked like you were expecting Jesus to come through the door and got one of his disciples instead.” Thranduil’s frown deepened. He didn’t think that he had been _that_ obvious.

“I’m not religious,” he muttered, dropping his gaze to the counter. Tauriel shrugged, and peered curiously at him for a few seconds. A sly smile slowly spread across her face.

“Were you perhaps _waiting_ for someone?”

Thranduil tried to be nonchalant, although his hand tightened around his arm for a second. “And where did you get that idea?” He asked calmly, giving her a cool stare. Tauriel returned it, the smile still on her face.

“Jesus,” she replied cheekily. Thranduil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Tauriel always managed to get a rise out of him, although they both knew it was all in good fun.

The young woman lived down the street from him and Legolas, and was a few years older than the latter. She was an instructor in Legolas’ archery club, and they had met at one of the meets a year ago. Tauriel quickly became good friends with Thranduil due to her driving nature (meaning that she relentlessly pounded on Thranduil’s door every weekend demanding that they all spend time together, rain or shine) and he in turn actually enjoyed her company, despite the fiery personality; her presence actually helped his tense and awkward conversations with Legolas several times. So far, she was one of a few that were able to pull him from his shell (although he was quite content to keep it that way, thank you very much – if he had any say in the matter _nobody_ would be able to get through his barriers but as it turned out his own opinions didn’t matter in the face of _friends_ ).

“Enough,” he glowered, and Tauriel backed off, although the grin was still present.

“Alright, alright,” she conceded; Thranduil relaxed a bit, although he knew that she planned on finding out exactly what was going on later.

“Now,” she said. “I would like an Americano, please.”

* * *

 A couple hours later, Tauriel left with a promise to stop by later in the week for dinner and Thranduil found himself during a rush hour of sorts, customers piling into the café. They were mostly to-go orders, although the tables were all filled at one point and so some were forced to take their orders out instead. His hands moved quickly, his motions looking almost effortless. He had to pay attention though, due to the amount of orders that had to be done one after another so he wouldn’t mess up. The last time that had happened, both the customer _and_ Thranduil had become very unhappy.

But it had been many months since it occurred and Thranduil was quite confident in his ability to produce accurate and delicious cups of coffee, even in the face of a constant stream of customers like now. He found himself alternating between making drinks, taking orders, and praying to a higher deity that nobody would request something complicated like his café was some kind of Starbucks.

It was times like these that he realized he probably should have hired some help, at least to work the register.

“Yes?” Thranduil asked, wiping his hands on his apron as he stepped back to the register. He was grateful that the customers were willing to wait, going through a queue of five drinks at a time before accepting more orders.

“Hello again,” Bard smiled warmly, hands stuffed in his pant pockets. Thranduil froze for a second, the other’s appearance unexpected (although not unwelcomed), before pulling himself together. “You look busy,” Bard remarked, looking amused. Thranduil frowned, recalling their conversation from last week.

“I’m managing,” he replied dryly, tapping his fingers against his leg.

“So I’ve heard.” There was the smile again, and Thranduil couldn’t help but return it, if not smaller.

“Ah, so you _can_ smile,” Bard said with relish, his expression turning mischievous and Thranduil instantly frowned instead, placing a hand on his hip.

“Yes, well, not everyone can be as _chipper_ as you,” he defended himself lightly, avoiding eye contact.

“At least I don’t look like I’m trying to intimidate everyone I talk to,” Bard teased, to which Thranduil looked up.

“I do _not_ ,” he replied indignantly, and was rewarded with a laugh. Inwardly Thranduil thought he would do anything to hear that laugh again. Already he was breaking his “ten word rule” with Bard; briefly he wondered what had come over him.

“I knew that you had personality under that cool exterior,” Bard remarked, chuckling and Thranduil bit his bottom lip in lieu of a response. _He thinks I have a cool exterior? What does that even mean?_ He made his mind up to ask Tauriel about it sometime, at the risk of her teasing.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he said finally, and Bard shot him an inquisitive look.

“Well, that just means I have to find out, then,” he replied defiantly, and Thranduil was taken aback for a moment before he started laughing.

Bard gave a confused smile. “Was it something that I said?” He asked, bemused. Thranduil only nodded, shoulders shaking with mirth as he tried to compose himself in vain.

“Our second conversation and yet you have managed to surprise me many times over,” he remarked with a final chuckle, and when he glanced up Bard looked rather proud of himself. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied with a smile of his own.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, both smiling (although Thranduil still felt somewhat embarrassed by his outburst of emotion) at each other, until the person behind Bard cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh…if you two are quite done flirting…I’d like to get my coffee please,” he said and Thranduil and Bard both turned red, remembering that they were in a public setting with the entire line of customers was watching them amusedly. “R-right,” Bard stammered, running a hand through his dark hair. “A cappuccino, please.”

Thranduil only nodded and rang him up silently, not daring to meet Bard’s eyes for fear of turning even redder than he already was. When the next customer moved up to the register, Thranduil inwardly groaned when he realized it was Bilbo.

“What can I get you?” He muttered, avoiding Bilbo’s amused stare. Thankfully his friend (were they friends? Thranduil couldn’t really tell – he hated Bilbo’s boyfriend, that’s for sure, but the man himself was nice enough) didn’t comment on what happened and simply ordered a coffee. But waiting for Thranduil to ring him up, he said, “I didn’t know _that_ was a thing,” gesturing subtly to Bard. Thranduil froze like a deer in headlights, glowering at the register like it had wronged him somehow.

“It’s not,” he replied curtly, resuming. Bilbo gave him a knowing look.

“Uh- _huh_. I can see that _very_ clearly.” Thranduil wished (not for the first time, really) that the small man wasn’t so perceptive. He was unusually clever, although Thranduil couldn’t really say the same for his boyfriend and _most_ of the time Thranduil found his counsel to be useful, especially regarding Legolas – Bilbo was his son’s teacher, after all.

However there were times when Bilbo’s perceptiveness called for some _very_ uncomfortable conversations and this was one of those times. “I’m not saying it’s bad, Thranduil,” Bilbo said, shrugging. “In fact, it’s good, it’s very good. I’m glad-“

“But there isn’t anything, and therefore there is nothing to be glad about,” Thranduil interrupted, pushing the buttons on the register with more force than necessary. He waited for Bilbo to hand over his payment, drumming his fingers on the counter. When the other simply looked at him with an exasperated expression, he frowned. “There are other people waiting,” he remarked lowly and Bilbo threw his hands up.

“Could’ve fooled me five minutes ago,” he quipped, but handed the appropriate amount over all the same, changing the subject while he did so. “Are you ever going to hire someone to assist you?”

Thranduil glanced up. “Whatever gave you that idea?” He replied irritably, and handed Bilbo his change and receipt, signaling the end of their conversation. Bilbo rolled his eyes.

* * *

 Thranduil dropped into a chair with a long sigh, running his hand over his face tiredly. It was near closing, now, and the steady stream of customers had trickled down to a couple people left finishing up their coffees. It really was a rush hour, because after an hour passed there was a lull in shop traffic, giving Thranduil a chance to catch his breath in between making all those drinks. His regulars had all given him sympathetic smiles when they ordered and the tip jar on the counter was almost overflowing, which he appreciated greatly.

Neither Bard nor Bilbo attempted conversation with him while he was creating their orders, although when Thranduil glanced up once he met Bard’s gaze, both quickly looking away in embarrassment much to Bilbo’s entertainment.

Thranduil didn’t dare look up after that.

It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because Bard left after receiving his coffee, as did Bilbo, and Thranduil was soon too busy to think about how embarrassing he must have been (although it would come back to him later in the night, accompanied by much groaning and a pillow in the face), or how Bard had smiled at him (it really was a wonderful smile).

He cleared up the remaining dishes after the last customer left, flipped the shop sign to closed and considered what Bilbo had said earlier. It was true that his café was getting more and more popular, and while Thranduil was capable of handling days like today, he couldn’t deny that it would be beneficial to have another set of hands to help him out. Legolas had offered in the past, but Thranduil didn’t want to take him away from his extracurriculars – their relationship was already strained and the last thing Thranduil needed was another factor to fuel their estrangement.

Putting away the last dish, he gave the café a final inspection and was removing his apron when the marker tucked over the hem slipped off and fell to the floor with a light clatter. He picked it up with a sigh, then looked at it thoughtfully. It had been a while, but he had taken a calligraphy class in college, and really fallen in love with the hobby – so much that he kept up the practice even now. It had been a couple months since he last wrote anything, but that didn’t mean he had forgotten everything entirely.

After a few seconds of staring at the marker blankly, Thranduil turned around to hunt for a blank sheet of paper.

* * *

 When Woodland Coffee and Books opened at eight A.M. the next morning, there was a sign posted in the window that read in a clean, neat, looping cursive:

_Help Wanted:_

_Part or Full Time_

_Must be flexible_

_More details, come inside and talk to me._

_Owner, Thranduil Greenleaf_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was writing the scene between Bard and Thranduil I actually had to stop and put my face in my hands multiple times because I was so embarrassed.


	3. waves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for the kudos, comments, and just plain ol' views! I'm constantly amazed. Thank you for reading my story ;u;
> 
> Thranduil hangs with Tauriel, and meets Sigrid and Tilda (without Bard, what?)
> 
> Unbetaed

_But still I reach, to find a way - I'm stuck here in between, looking for the right words to say._

* * *

 “ _Of course_ you have a cool exterior,” Tauriel laughed when Thranduil asked her after dinner one day.

They were washing the dishes, Thranduil washing and Tauriel drying. It was oddly domestic, although Thranduil had no such feelings towards the other no matter _what_ the neighborhood ladies liked to say. Their friendship was purely that, friendship, and both of them had no intentions of progressing it further (one time the lady down the street caught Tauriel leaving Thranduil’s house after their weekly dinner and it was all everyone would talk about for a good month. Tauriel and Thranduil had one very awkward conversation after that, in which they both established their feelings for one another _very_ clearly).

Thranduil passed her another dish, accompanied by a dubious look. “I expected something less…flattering,” he remarked, running a plate under the faucet. Tauriel raised an eyebrow at him.

“Please. All the girls in my classes always talk about the ‘handsome café owner from Woodland,’” she mimicked, pitching her voice higher. “They swoon over you daily,” she added, leaning against the counter in wait for the next dish. Thranduil grimaced, moving on to the silverware. Dinner had been casserole, cooked by Tauriel – they switched off every week, after spending a lot of time during the beginning of their dinners arguing about who would cook. (Thranduil would say that it was _his_ kitchen, while Tauriel stubbornly insisted that it was _her_ idea and therefore her duty to provide the food).

“Even though I look like I’m- how did you put it? ‘Ready to murder someone at a moment’s notice’?” Thranduil quoted, making Tauriel stick her tongue out at him.

“They only fawn over you because they don’t know how _rude_ you actually are,” she retorted, wagging her finger at him. “Although even if they did know, they’d probably say it’s part of your _charm_. Girls these days will accept anything about people they idolize.” She shook her head in mock exasperation.

Thranduil shuddered at the thought of being _idolized_ of all things (he was only a coffee shop owner, for crying out loud). “I assume you didn’t care to inform them of our…arrangements,” Thranduil said, scrubbing at a dirty fork before rinsing and handing it off to be dried. Sometimes the food scraps didn’t always come off with the first swipe of the sponge, which irked Thranduil to no end.

Tauriel laughed, loud and clear. “That makes it sound like something secretive,” she grinned, enveloping the fork with a fluffy dishcloth. “Which I suppose it was; I mean, the entire neighborhood thought we were having a secret rendezvous for weeks until we cleared it up.” She put the fork away thoughtfully. “Didn’t they ever consider the fact that Legolas was around as well?”

Thranduil shrugged. “People will take anything for good gossip,” he commented, glancing at her. “Some of them just don’t happen to have the brains in their huge heads to figure things out,” he added haughtily. Tauriel rolled her eyes at him.

“You speak as if you are better than them,” she scolded, smacking him with the dishcloth. Thranduil glared at her and flicked water in her face.

“I only speak the truth,” he retorted, dodging the next swipe of her dishcloth. “You think the same way, do not deny it.” She huffed and began putting the dishes away in their respective cabinets and drawers.

“At least I don’t say it out loud, unlike a _certain_ someone,” she glared back, sliding the stack of plates into the overhead cabinet. Thranduil didn’t move to help her – he knew she didn’t need it nor would she accept it. The first time he tried to help her, she nearly murdered him with her expression (this was also after Thranduil had offered and she refused, so he deserved it, really).

He sprayed the sink down quickly before fitting the nozzle back into the faucet and wiping the counter with a rag, wrinkling his nose at the smell of chlorine. He made a mental note to change it for a new one later.

“What brought up your question, anyway?” Tauriel asked, her voice muffled by the fact that she was half inside the pots cabinet under the counter. Thranduil was glad for this, because he froze at the question and it took him a second to collect himself. He had expected her to ask, but half-hoped that she had forgotten.

“Just…someone said that to me the other day.” He tried to sound nonchalant. “I thought it to be strange, that’s all.” Inwardly he prayed that she would let the matter drop, but to no such luck. She pulled back from the cabinet, closing the door and gave him a suspicious look.

“You don’t usually care about what others say about you,” she commented, rising to her feet slowly. “What about it struck your interest this time?” Her tone sounded casual, but Thranduil knew that if he said one thing out of place, she would be onto him like a pack of wolves.

Luckily, he could be quite the expert at playing it cool, even though he was almost panicking on the inside. He leveled her with a cool stare. “I’ve heard people say that about me often enough for it to warrant my interest,” he replied evenly. “It may be hard to believe, but even I get curious sometimes.”

Tauriel eyed him, doubt evident in her expression – but she seemed to accept his answer, for she turned away and changed the subject. Thranduil breathed a silent sigh of relief. He managed to evade her questioning this time; hopefully there would not be another. He would have to be more careful in his actions and words around her.

“Oh, yes, that’s right. Are you going to the match this Saturday?”

Thranduil snapped out of his thoughts. “What?”

Tauriel gave him a look of exasperation. “You weren’t listening to a thing I was saying, were you?” The guilty look on Thranduil’s face told her all she needed to know. The redhead folded her arms. “The match? On Saturday? The one Legolas is competing in? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

Thranduil realized what she was talking about. “No, I remember,” he murmured, leaning against the counter with a frown. Legolas had mentioned it to him earlier in the week at dinner (which was a quiet, strained affair as always) but said that Thranduil didn’t need to attend if he didn’t want to. This made Thranduil feel a bit odd – despite the relationship (or lack thereof) between him and his son, he still wanted to be able to support him. Even if that meant going to an outdoor archery match where there would be large groups of people present and endless cheering.

Thranduil supposed that Legolas was trying to look out for him, in his own way, and sighed. “Are you going?” Tauriel asked, looking concerned. “It’s an important match. It decides the competitors for the nation. I think it’ll be good – for you _and_ him,” she added quieter. Thranduil glanced at her and gave a small nod.

“I was planning on going anyway,” he stated, and she smiled.

“Great,” she said, clapping her hands together. “I’ll pick you up at nine.”

* * *

 The morning of the match promised good weather, the sun shining brightly through fluffy white clouds that dotted an astonishing blue sky. Thranduil shielded his eyes from the light as he gazed up, squinting against the brightness. Beside him Tauriel placed her hands on her hips, scanning the crowds of people. “Looks like it’ll be sunny all day,” he commented, lowering his head to look at her. He thought she looked rather dashing in her breezy green top coupled with a pair of tan capris, and he told her so.

“Why, thank you,” she replied graciously, smoothing a hand over her shirt. “You don’t look too shabby yourself.” It was true – Thranduil actually put thought into his outfit today, not wanting to make a bad impression for such an important event. One might think that he would be the type to put effort into what he wore each day, but Thranduil usually donned a t-shirt and jeans for work. Today he had a dark red cardigan over a loose silver shirt, and jeans. They were nicer jeans than usual, but still jeans. Tauriel had insisted on braiding his hair, and it now hung over his shoulder in a single long plait.

“It’s good that the weather will be nice, but the heat might add some strain on the archers,” Tauriel commented, biting her thumb nail. “I better go check on them. You wanna come?”

Thranduil had almost forgotten that she was one of the instructors in Legolas’ club. While the idea of wishing his son good luck was tempting (not to mention it might improve Legolas’ opinion of him a little), he also didn’t want to distract him. Legolas had said that he didn’t have to come, yet here he was. He shook his head.

“I’ll just go find a seat,” Thranduil murmured, and Tauriel put a hand on his shoulder briefly before disappearing towards the buildings on the other side of the field. Worrying his lower lip, Thranduil made his way over to the seating area, hoping to get a good seat away from the crowd. He was out of luck, though, as it looked like almost all the seats were filled already. Sighing, he strode over to an area that looked less concentrated and dropped into an empty seat near the back.

After a few moments a couple of people came and sat down next to him. By the sound of their voices, both female, Thranduil guessed that they were siblings. He didn’t pay them any mind at first, too concentrated on texting Tauriel. It was only when he felt a hand touch his arm that he looked up, startled. A pair of inquisitive brown eyes stared back at him.

“Yes?” He asked after a moment of silence between them. The eyes belonged to a young girl, no more than ten years old, with curly light brown hair pulled back from her face into a high ponytail. She was wearing a light blue sundress, and white sandals adorned her feet. All in all she looked rather picturesque.

“You’re very pretty,” she said matter-of-factly, elbows propped up on the armrests between them. Thranduil raised an eyebrow at her. “Thank you,” he said slowly, and the girl nodded.

“You’re welcome,” she said cheerfully, swinging her legs back and forth. “Percy always said to Bain that if he sees a pretty girl, he should tell her that she’s pretty because it’s nice manners _and_ because it might help him get a girl unlike Da who’s been single forever because he doesn’t have any game.”

Thranduil tried not to smile as she said all of this in one breath, although he was still confused as to who this child was and why she was applying this _Percy’s_ teachings to him. “I’m not a girl though,” he remarked, twirling his phone between his fingers. The little girl laughed, as if he had said the most amusing thing in the world.

“I know that, silly! But you _are_ very pretty all the same.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “Your hair is so long and beautiful.”

By this time, Thranduil was quite at a loss for words at the girl who seemed to dish out compliments like he did drinks. “Your father may not have any _game_ , but you seem to have more than enough,” he smiled lightly, just as footsteps made him glance up. Another girl was approaching, older than the one he was sitting by, but with enough resemblance that he could see that they were clearly related. Sisters, most likely.

“ _Tilda_ ,” the older girl scolded, striding over. “ _What_ have I told you about bothering others?” The younger girl – _Tilda_ – pouted. “But Percy said-“

“Enough about what Percy said,” the older interrupted, crossing her arms before turning to Thranduil. “I’m so sorry about my little sister; you’ll have to excuse her. I hope she hasn’t been bothering you too much,” she said apologetically, bowing slightly. Thranduil gave a slight shake of his head.

“No, not at all,” he remarked. “In fact, she has been most delightful.” At this Tilda smiled broadly, looking proud of herself. The older girl looked conflicted, as if debating on whether or not to move her sister to another seat or just leave them be. In the end she sighed and just dropped into the seat on Tilda’s other side, giving Thranduil a weary smile. “Sorry about this,” she apologized again. “It’s fine,” Thranduil assured her, and she held out her hand.

“I’m Sigrid, and this is Tilda,” she introduced them. Thranduil took it, noting the strong handshake. “Thranduil,” he said in turn, at which Tilda turned to her sister.

“Isn’t he pretty though, Sig?” She asked excitedly, referring to Thranduil. “His hair is so _long_!” She cast an admiring glance at said hair, which was still draped over Thranduil’s shoulder. It stood out against his red cardigan, looking almost white from the color contrast, and Thranduil resisted the urge to run his fingers over it self-consciously.

Sigrid looked a little embarrassed as she replied. “Yes, Til, it is. Now behave, Da will be here soon. Our brother is competing in the match,” she explained to Thranduil, who nodded.

“My son is competing as well,” he said just as the phone in his hand buzzed with an incoming text. It was from Tauriel, and he swiped across the screen to open it.

_They’re gonna start soon. Where are you sitting?_

Quickly he typed out a response.

_Left side of the targets, left section near the back._

He looked back up at Tilda, who asked him who his son was. “His name is Legolas,” he answered after a moment of hesitation. He was surprised when Sigrid’s eyes widened and Tilda gasped. The duo exchanged a look of shock.

“Not Legolas _Greenleaf_ ,” Sigrid gaped as Tilda practically vibrated with excitement. “Don’t be silly, Sig, there’s nobody else out there named Legolas,” the latter exclaimed, not taking her eyes off Thranduil (who was thoroughly confused).

“I don’t understand,” he said. “My last name is indeed Greenleaf, but…do you two know my son?”

Tilda, who was practically jumping up and down in her seat, paused to give him a serious look. “Not personally, but yes, we know _of_ him. He’s practically famous in the archery world,” she informed him, biting her knuckle. Sigrid gave a solemn nod, looking too wound up to scold her for the habit.

“Everybody expects him to win the championships this year,” she added, eyes practically sparkling. “He’s a real hit at school, too – all the girls swoon over him.” She gave him a questioning look, the excitement fading from her eyes when she saw he confusion on his face. “Did…did he not tell you?”

Thranduil gave her a faint half-smile. “No, it- it seems like he neglected to tell me,” he murmured, and Sigrid looked sympathetic.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “Bain –that’s our brother– doesn’t tell Da what happens at school either. I have to do it for him. All boys go through that stage where they’re too embarrassed to share anything about themselves with their parents.”

At this Tilda, who had been silent, piped up. “Yeah! One time I saw Bain holding hands with a girl after school, and when I told Da I thought Bain’s head was going to explode, it was so red.” Thranduil cracked another smile, larger this time, grateful for the two girls’ attempts to console him.

He was about to change the subject when Tilda’s attention was diverted to something behind him, and she gave an excited shout. “ _Da!_ ” Thranduil, who turned around to greet the father of two of the loveliest girls that he had to fortune to meet, froze.

“Well, well, well. I do hope my daughters haven’t been disturbing you,” the man grinned, and Thranduil’s heart rate immediately sped up at the sight of that smile.

“ _Bard_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha so cliche, amirite? Expect some embarrassing single dads giving each other the googly eyes next chapter. Or not, because I might get too embarrassed while writing and die........


	4. dust clears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, sorry for the delay in this chapter. school caught up to me this week, and I couldn't find any time to sit down and actually write until tonight. anyway, please enjoy this chapter! thank you all for the comments, kudos, and views :) you're all wonderful people!
> 
> googly eyes? sweet words?? they're so embarrassing and they haven't even gotten together yet.

_‘Cause you’ve been living in a world of your own design, undermined, in another place, other space in time._

* * *

 A buzz in his hands brought Thranduil out of his conversation with Bard and he barely spared his phone a glance before returning to their intense discussion about whether or not including extra ingredients in a grilled cheese would still constitute it as grilled cheese.

“…I’m telling you, there’s a reason why a grilled cheese sandwich is called _grilled cheese_. You can’t just go around adding stuff in there, it takes away from the grilled cheese part,” Bard argued on his right (Thranduil had tried to give up his seat so Bard could sit with his daughters but the man insisted that it was fine and promptly plopped down on Thranduil’s other side), trying very hard to keep a straight face and failing. It was hard to convince the other party of your argument when you couldn’t stop smiling, Thranduil thought with an amused expression. Then again, it was hard to be convincing at all when the topic was something like grilled cheese.

“I beg to differ,” he said, shaking his head. “There are variations of grilled cheese _everywhere_. Humans love variation. We couldn’t even adapt without it. Besides,” Thranduil wrinkled his nose. “Eating plain cheese and bread, while I admit can be delightful on occasion, frankly sounds quite disgusting if eaten the same way every time.”

Bard laughed at that, loud and clear. Thranduil found that he enjoyed Bard’s laugh very, _very_ much. It was a pity that he wasn’t the comedian type, or else he’d do everything in his power to make Bard laugh all the time. “Alright,” the dark-haired man said, his laughter receding to quiet chuckles. “You must have yet to eat a truly delicious grilled cheese.”

“Ah, you say that, but can you deliver?” Thranduil shot back, raising an eyebrow. “Do I spy a challenge on the horizon?”

“Fine,” Bard grinned widely, and Thranduil fought the urge to grin back. He did _not_ grin, handsome men be damned. “Name a time and place,” Bard continued, crossing his arms across the chest. “I’ll make you the best grilled cheese you’ll ever have.” At that Thranduil’s breath caught, and he blinked in surprise. _Is he asking me out?_ He wondered, inwardly cringing at the way he sounded like a teenage girl. Even if it was just to make a grilled cheese sandwich, Bard’s proposition sounded an awful lot like a date. Not that it’s a bad thing, but Thranduil didn’t want to take it the wrong way.

Luckily (or unluckily) he was saved from answering when his phone buzzed again, this time incessantly. Even Bard glanced down at the device, brow furrowed. “Aren’t you going to answer it?” He asked, looking mildly concerned. Thranduil flipped it over, scanning the screen. They were messages from Tauriel, all vaguely along the lines of _where are you_ and growing from normal to borderline furious. Her latest one read, _Pick up you nitwit._ His mouth quirked up into an amused smile as the screen switched to an incoming call.

Thranduil excused himself from Bard and his daughters, moving to the aisle to pick up the call. “Hello?” He answered smoothly, holding the phone away from his ear in preparation for the inevitable storm.

“ _Thranduil Greenleaf, I swear to all that is mighty, I will throttle you in your sleep the next time you ignore my texts_ ,” Tauriel’s voice blared out from the tiny speakers, making him wince. A couple people turned to stare and he turned away from their gazes as Tauriel ranted on. “ _Do you realize how worried I was, I thought you had injured yourself or gotten into a fight or something-“_

“Yes, apologies,” Thranduil cut through her stream of words, leaning against the railing. “I was a little…distracted, is all. It was nothing, I’m fine, truly.” There was silence on the other end, and he assumed that she had burned out her steam. “Now, did you want to find me?” He asked, peering out into the crowd in an attempt to spot the redhead.

“Yeah,” she muttered against the background chatter. “Legolas’ division isn’t until later, so I thought I’d sit with you until it started.” Thranduil made an appreciative noise; he was grateful for her friendship, for she was there when he needed her and hopefully the other way around as well. There was a brief moment of silence, punctuated by Tauriel muttering “ _Excuse me_ ” and “ _Sorry, sorry”_ as she made her way through the crowds, before she spoke up again, her tone teasing. “But perhaps you don’t need my company after all,” she added mischievously. “It seems that you’ve been getting along fine so far.”

Thranduil frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, trying not to sound defensive. Of course, she couldn’t have seen him…right?

“Oh, come on. You were distracted enough to ignore my texts? Sounds like good company, if you ask me.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Thranduil muttered, tapping his finger on the back of the phone. “They were children, very delightful. Better company than some, I would say.”

Tauriel snorted. “Whatever. I could say the same.” A pause. “Oh, I think I see you. Don’t move.”

Thranduil turned around, trying to spot the younger. “I don’t see you, though,” he objected with a frown.

“Please. You’re as tall as a tree, and your hair is nearly white in this light. You’re pretty hard to miss,” Tauriel rebutted, and promptly hung up. Thranduil looked at his phone indignantly before a shout of his name made him look up.

“I’d half a mind to leave you behind,” he commented dryly when Tauriel came up to him, looking slightly hassled. “I can hang up on you, but it’s not quite the same the other way around.”

Tauriel grinned at him. “It feels quite good, on the contrary,” she remarked, brushing long strands away from her face. “I don’t know how you’re surviving in that cardigan,” she added as Thranduil began to lead them back to his seat. “It’s as hot as a sauna here.” She fanned herself with her fan.

“I’m not the one who’s been running around in the sun,” Thranduil shrugged, glancing back at her.

“ _You’re_ the one who chose to sit in the farthest section of the seating,” she shot back, mock-scowling. “You also didn’t read my texts, so I had to wander around trying to find where you were.”

“I texted you my location.”

“‘Left side’ isn’t very descriptive nor helpful, you know.”

Thranduil threw his hands up. “Whatever,” he grumbled as they reached Bard and the girls.

“You’re back,” Bard said, smiling warmly at Thranduil (who firmly told himself that the redness in his cheeks was due to the heat and nothing else). His gaze flickered to Tauriel and the smile seemed to dim for a split second, although Thranduil thought he was mistaken when it appeared back at full force a moment later. “And who’s this behind you?” He asked, standing.

Thranduil hesitated, and behind him Tauriel poked him meaningfully in the back and he turned to glare at her.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” She whispered, raising an eyebrow.

“Not if I could help it,” Thranduil muttered, but obliged all the same, if not reluctantly; the prospect of introducing Tauriel to Bard was still terrifying. “Bard, Sigrid, Tilda, this is Tauriel. She’s my…friend, I suppose.” He ignored the pointed look Tauriel gave him as she moved to shake their hands. “Tauriel, this is Bard and his children. I met him at the café a few weeks ago.”

“Delighted to meet you,” Tauriel said cheerfully, a smile on her face, and Bard repeated her words. The redhead moved to sit on Sigrid’s other side, who gave her a quick smile.

“So,” Tauriel began after they were all settled in their seats again. “Do you know anyone competing today, Bard?”

“Aye, my son, Bain. I believe he’s in the senior division this year,” Bard replied, glancing out into the field where the event staff was preparing for the first group. “It’ll be his first time out of the junior division,” he added with a chuckle.

“I imagine he’s quite nervous, then,” Thranduil commented. He recalled when Legolas first started competing in the senior division, and how nervous he had been despite not voicing his worries. Thranduil had attended the meet – it was the first one he had ever gone to, and he had been surprised at his son’s ability.

“He looked like he was about to piss his pants,” Tilda commented solemnly, to which Sigrid exclaimed, “ _Tilda!_ ” in a shocked voice. Tilda stuck her lower lip out stubbornly. “What?” She said defensively as Tauriel laughed. “That’s what Bain says all the time.” Bard chuckled, leaning past Thranduil to ruffle his youngest daughter’s hair affectionately.

“That doesn’t mean you have to copy him, darling.”

* * *

 After the first group of the junior division started, the group settled into easy conversation, Sigrid striking up a discussion about university with Tauriel. Thranduil found himself enjoying Bard’s company more and more, liking the easy way in which he smiled and spoke. He began allowing small smiles during their conversation, to which Bard returned with grins and witty comments as if trying to make Thranduil laugh.

He also found that they shared a love of books, which was _definitely_ a plus in Thranduil’s book (no pun intended).

“You enjoy Faulkner?” Bard asked in disbelief. They were comparing favorite authors at the moment, and Thranduil now knew that Bard loved mystery genres with a great passion. “I find his books much too confusing. Too many hidden meanings, in my opinion.”

“Well,” Thranduil started, a smile playing on his lips. “I would say that mystery novels are full of hidden meanings. Even more so because they’re, you know, _mystery_ novels.”

“Yes, but that’s because they _have_ to be full of hidden meanings,” Bard laughed, crossing one leg over the other. “And you’ll find that they’re actually quite straightforward, especially within an author’s works. But Faulkner-” he made a face. “Faulkner just seems to enjoy messing with the reader for the sake of it. Especially that one book, the dreary one about the old lady; I believe it’s called-“

“ _As I Lay Dying_ , yes, that’s the general opinion of it,” Thranduil finished, amused. “You know, there have been many scholars who have tried deciphering the _hidden meanings_ within the book, but it’s all speculation, really. Nobody knows what Faulkner was really thinking when he wrote the book, but I find it fascinating,” he continued, eyes shining. “He truly was a great author, to be able to produce such a work that _so_ many people have attempted to divulge its secrets without success-” He stopped when he realized that Bard was studying him with a strange expression on his face. “What?” Thranduil asked curiously.

“What?” Bard repeated, the look disappearing so fast Thranduil wondered if he had imagined it in the first place.

“You were staring at me,” Thranduil said, brow furrowing. “Is there something on my face?”

Bard hesitated, then shook his head. “No, it’s nothing. There’s nothing.”

Thranduil frowned suspiciously. “You hesitated,” he noted. “That means there _was_ something.” He was used to people staring, to be honest – many of the customers who came into the café (female, mostly, but male as well) tended to sneak glances at him when they thought he wasn’t aware, but Thranduil was _always_ aware. Because of this he always wondered if he looked funny (although he wasn’t all that concerned with what others thought of him); it wasn’t until Tauriel mentioned to him that there were many people she knew who talked about him daily that he realized they found him handsome.

It was rather disconcerting, in Thranduil’s opinion.

Bard smiled. “I just…thought that you were really passionate talking about Faulkner just a minute ago. It was cute. I liked it,” he added, so quiet that Thranduil wasn’t sure if he had imagined it or not. He looked away, feeling his face flush and stared at his shoes instead. He wasn’t sure how to reply to that without making a fool of himself.

“I’m not sure _cute_ is an adjective one would apply to someone like me,” he finally remarked quietly, glancing at Bard who looked rather red as well. The other man smiled, despite the embarrassed look on his face, and ran a hand through his dark locks.

“I know someone who would argue differently,” Bard returned, and Thranduil stared at him despite himself. _Do I want to continue down this road?_ He debated, conflicted. He had never allowed another person to talk like this to him after his wife – Tauriel was an exception, but even their playful banter was that of friendship. _Is this flirting_?

“Now you’re the one staring,” Bard commented, and Thranduil banished thoughts of flirting and handsome smiles from his mind.

“Apologies,” he said, looking out into the field instead. After a moment of hesitation, he added quietly, “I was just admiring the view.” He didn’t dare look over at Bard, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the archers ahead. He heard Bard begin to say something when the crowd erupted into applause, and breathed a silent sigh of relief. He was saved from that for the moment, and joined in the applause, albeit with less enthusiasm.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Tauriel looking over at him with a raised eyebrow, and he shot her an innocent look before turning his attention back to the field.

As the applause died down, Bard appeared to want to say something, but seemed to think better of it. Thranduil wasn’t sure if he was grateful or not. There was a moment of silence between them before Bard spoke up again.

“Have you always had your café, then?” he asked, seeming to have decided to move the conversation into another direction as the next group of archers filed onto the field. One thing Thranduil quickly caught on about the man was that he was able to carry a conversation a long way, something that Thranduil himself had difficulty with (not that he ever cared about that sort of thing, though). To be honest, there was an easygoing air about Bard that prompted Thranduil to keep the conversation going as well.

“Yes,” Thranduil answered, running his thumb over the smooth back of his phone. He tried not to notice the way Bard’s eyes seemed to follow the action. “It was my father’s, and then passed down to me after he died.” He paused, unsure whether to continue. Thranduil had mixed feelings about his father; while Oropher most likely had been loving and caring, Thranduil couldn’t remember enough about him at home to attest to the fact.

There had only been the smell of coffee when he was younger, and then memories of being in the café, the different types of drinks being ingrained into his mind.

“Thranduil?” The soft voice broke through his reverie, and Thranduil blinked, looking up to see a mildly concerned expression on Bard’s face. “You alright there?”

Thranduil gave a small nod, looking apologetic. “Excuse me,” he murmured. “Got sidetracked for a moment. Did you say something?”

Bard shook his head with a smile. “Only that I thought you admirable,” he remarked, to which Thranduil looked bemused.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing admirable about me,” he replied quietly, looking down at his hands. Beside him he heard Bard laugh lightly.

“That’s another thing I’m going to have to disagree with you on,” Bard murmured and Thranduil met his gaze with wonder.

“Why do you say such things about me?” He asked softly. Bard looked questioningly back.

“What do you mean?”

Thranduil paused to formulate his sentence carefully. “I mean,” he started slowly. “We- you- you hardly know me.” His lips quirked into a quick half smile. “As cliché as that sounds. We’ve only met a few times and yet…yet you treat me so kindly.” His voice trailed off to a whisper at the end. Bard took in a breath, seeming to think about how to reply. As he stayed silent, Thranduil shook his head. “Sorry, that was ridiculous. Please, just forget it,” he said, about to turn away.

“ _No_ , wait,” Bard said, grabbing Thranduil’s arm; he froze. “It wasn’t ridiculous at all. I was trying to think of a way to respond without sounding like a complete idiot.” He gave a short laugh. “I just...feel like you’re worth more than you think you are,” he finished firmly, looking Thranduil in the eyes.

Thranduil was at a loss for words. His heart seemed to constrict tightly in his chest, beating faster than ever before as Bard searched his eyes. He inhaled long and slow, trying to find the right words to say. How was he supposed to respond to that? Nobody had ever said anything of the sort to him before. Not since his wife died. In truth, he had spent so much time blaming himself for her death, shutting himself inside his own mind of self-depreciation that he had truly believed himself to be worth nothing. But here was someone who was telling him the opposite – that he _did_ matter, that he _was_ worth something. It was genuine, and it made Thranduil feel something that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

His eyes never left Bard’s as he tried to come up with a proper response. “Bard,” he began, voice trembling. “I…I think-“

“ _Da!_ Look, _look!_ It’s _Bain!_ ”

The two men jerked, ripped out of the moment they were wrapped in by the excited voice. Next to Thranduil, Tilda was jumping up and down, pointing out to the field where another group of archers were getting into position. Recovering from his shock first, Bard smiled at Tilda and followed her line of sight. “That’s right, darling. There he is. Maybe try wishing him luck, hm?”

Between them Thranduil was trying to calm his racing heartbeat, their voices fading to the background. _What was I about to say?_ He thought in dismay, his hand clutching his phone so tightly that his knuckles were white. He was slightly frightened. Frightened at how quickly Bard was able to change him, at how easily he had been ready to say something that he might regret. _But would really you regret it?_ A small voice in the back of his mind whispered.

He forced his attention back to Tilda as she asked him if he could see Legolas and tried to act natural. He avoided Bard’s gaze, trying to focus on his son as Legolas stepped up. He applauded with everyone else as Legolas hit the bull’s eye with ease, amused Tilda’s and Sigrid’s questions about Legolas. He was grateful that Tauriel had left earlier to be with her students as they competed, for she would have seen through him in an instant.

The moment with Bard had shaken Thranduil. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with these feelings, and as the meet ended and they all began to leave, he could tell that his attempts to act normally with Bard were unconvincing, if the man’s concerned expression was anything to go by.

He left quickly after saying farewell to Bard, Sigrid, and Tilda, texting Tauriel that he would meet her back at the car. He leaned against the hot car door with closed eyes, heaving a long sigh, and tried not to think about the fact that he might be in love with the man with the warm smile and warmer words to go with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh shit thranduil, come on.


	5. heart on fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry sorry sorry for the late update! It's likely that the next one will take as long too; I'm drowning in essays and design projects at the moment.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for supporting me! I love seeing how many of you are reading and commenting and such. You all are just simply fantastic!
> 
> Haldir is Thranduil's best friend and nobody can stop me from making him fabulous

_I can’t breathe, you set my heart on fire. Every single thing you do just set my heart on fire._

* * *

 “Ada.”

Thranduil looked up, startled. It was the Wednesday morning after Legolas’ archery competition and the Greenleafs were sitting at the kitchen table as usual – Legolas starting breakfast with some fruit and Thranduil’s nose buried in a new book. They had already exchanged their small talk of the morning, but it was not the fact that Legolas was actually initiating conversation that surprised him. No, Thranduil had been startled because of what Legolas _said_.

He had not been called “Ada” in many years. Legolas used to call him that all the time, until one day in seventh grade it had just…stopped. Thranduil noticed it immediately of course; being called “Dad” out of the blue had been somewhat disconcerting, but he had said nothing of it. Legolas had seemed disappointed when he responded normally, but Thranduil had thought it was just adolescence that sparked the change and nothing else. So from that point on, it had been “Dad” and never “Ada,” which seemed to widen the gap between them even more.

Legolas’ use of the word now left Thranduil at a loss for a second (that seemed to happen to him often recently). Eventually he managed to gather his wits. “Yes?” He rasped, throat feeling dry. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What is it?”

His son fiddled with the banana peel, appearing to think over his next words. “Is it okay if I bring a couple friends to the café after school today?” He asked, looking up from the peel to Thranduil. His face was neutral, but Thranduil could see hopefulness in his eyes.

“O-of course you can, Legolas,” he said, surprised. “You don’t have to ask for permission. It’s not like I can stop you,” he added, flicking a page corner with his index finger. “If it were our home, it would be a different matter, but the café is a public facility.” He tried to give his son a small, reassuring smile, but thought that it probably came out more like a grimace. He opted to take a sip of his coffee instead.

“Great,” Legolas smiled, sounding relieved. Thranduil gave him a small nod, and was about to return to his book when the younger spoke up again. “Thanks, by the way,” he said, quieter. “For coming to my match,” he added when he saw the blank stare on Thranduil’s face. “I’m glad you were there.”

At this Thranduil felt his face reddening. “You’re welcome,” he replied quietly, not sure what else to say. “I always want to support you in whatever you chose,” he finally stated. Now it was Legolas’ turn to look surprised, not that Thranduil could blame him. It was very unlike for him to be so open with his emotions, especially with Legolas.

“Thanks, Ada,” Legolas said with a smile, and Thranduil returned it with one of his own. He felt that they had grown a little bit closer after Legolas found out that Thranduil had attended his competition; at least, he didn’t feel as much awkwardness and tension in their exchanges anymore.

Returning to his book, his mind drifted past the words on the page to the previous Saturday. Upon realizing his feelings for Bard, Thranduil had immediately shut them down, squashing the thought as soon as it had come. He was determined to keep them hidden – there was a reason why he had been alone all this time, with few friends. Letting someone new into his life romantically was something that he was unprepared for. Tauriel had tried to pry info about Bard from him in the car ride back home, but Thranduil had been tightlipped about the whole matter and eventually she let it drop.

 _Besides_ , he told himself. _It’s not as if Bard would ever reciprocate those feelings anyway_.

* * *

 The bell over the café door jingled, signaling a new customer. Thranduil glanced up from the chai tea he was fixing for a customer and raised an eyebrow at the newcomer, who laughed at his expression.

“What’s the look for, Thranduil?” Haldir asked teasingly.

“I don’t know what’s worse, your face or the abomination that you’re wearing,” Thranduil replied, handing the chai tea off to the girl waiting. Haldir sauntered up and gave her a wink as she passed, making her blush. Thranduil just rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know, I think my shirt is pretty on point today,” Haldir said, stretching said article of clothing out to look down at it as Thranduil made a disgusted expression. His old college roommate had a tendency to wear shirts with the strangest design or graphic on them. Where Haldir got the shirts, Thranduil never knew (he didn’t really _want_ to know either) and it was something that had started their last year of college and lasted throughout their years of friendship.

Today, it was some kind of sloth-turtle hybrid striking a pose, with the words “Too Fast” printed in large block letters behind it.

“Your choice in clothing has never been even _close_ to the realm of ‘on point’,” Thranduil retorted, trying to avoid looking at the disturbing graphic as he moved to the cash register.

Haldir, being the one who wanted to annoy the hell out of Thranduil at all times, always ordered the most complicated drinks and complained loudly when he thought that something was missing (not that anything ever _was_ , and if it were it would be because Haldir deserved it). It was appropriate to say that Thranduil had been sufficiently annoyed since freshman year when Haldir spilled pomegranate juice all over his hair and then proceeded to laugh loudly and obnoxiously (he insisted that it was an accident but Thranduil didn’t buy it).

Haldir rattled off his usual long list and Thranduil scribbled it down quickly (Haldir’s was the only order that he ever had to write down) before ringing him up. Handing over the money, Haldir stepped to the side and leaned against the high counter, watching Thranduil as he worked.

“You got your hair cut,” Thranduil noted, stuffing the coffee grounds into a tiny pot.

“You noticed?” Haldir sounded pleased, taking a lock of hair to inspect the ends. “I thought it was getting a bit long, so I decided to get it trimmed. It was only a couple inches though, I’m surprised you noticed.” He flicked the lock back and forth.

Not for the first time, Thranduil rolled his eyes. “I’ve known you how long? Quite sure I’m able to tell when you get a trim at this point in time.” He leaned down briefly to fetch the milk.

Haldir laughed. “Wow, I’m honored. Didn’t think you held me in such high regard,” he joked, grinning at Thranduil, who looked at him with an unamused expression.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Thranduil retorted with a glare, earning him another laugh.

“The stylist did a good job this time though. Sometimes they cut it a bit unevenly, which pisses me off to no end –they think I can’t tell, but _honestly,_ it’s _my_ hair– but this guy was pretty good. All clean at the ends.” He leaned over the counter. “Look, just feel it. Even you’d appreciate the way it was cut.”

Thranduil gave him a disgusted look. “I am _not_ going to touch your hair,” he said, pouring the steamed milk into the mug. “Especially since I’m making your drink at the moment.”

Haldir frowned at him. “So _slow_ ,” he groaned dramatically, propping his elbows up on the counter (earning him another glare from Thranduil at his lack of manners). “I thought you were a coffee master or something.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the one who gave me such a complicated order,” Thranduil pointed out as he pressed the whipped cream dispenser over the smooth surface of the drink. He shook a dash of nutmeg over the fluffy cream and carefully set the mug on the counter. “I’m done anyway, though.”

Haldir beamed at him. “Thanks, mate. Can you feel my hair now?” Thranduil raised an eyebrow at his persistence, but obliged all the same, running long fingers through smooth blond locks.

“It’s unbelievable how well you treat it,” he commented, grudgingly admiring the smooth texture. “Especially considering your personality.”

Haldir, who had closed his eyes at the sensation of his hair being stroked (he had a strange obsession with others playing with his hair, and while Thranduil never wanted to fuel his weird hobbies _ever_ , even he had to admit that Haldir’s hair was unusually smooth and pleasant to touch), fluttered them open and pretended to be offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked indignantly, cradling his head in one hand.

“Probably what you’re thinking,” Thranduil muttered, letting his hand fall from the blond locks as he glanced around the café to make sure there wasn’t anyone that needed his help. He glanced back at Haldir to see blue eyes staring at him with slight concern. “What?” He asked irritably.

“Are you okay?” Haldir asked quietly. “Not to be blunt, but you’ve been acting a bit off this past week. Even more than usual,” he added, and Thranduil could see that he wasn’t joking this time.

“I’m fine,” he replied, trying to sound convincing. “It’s all just…more taxing than usual. Don’t need to worry, I’m getting over it.”

Haldir still looked unconvinced, but he knew better than to pursue when Thranduil didn’t want him to (being best friends for such a long time was nice in that way). He took a sip of his drink and nodded. “If you say so,” he said, and Thranduil couldn’t suppress the amused smile at the sight of a line of whipped cream lining his upper lip. “What is it?”

Thranduil quickly dropped the smile. “Nothing,” he said nonchalantly, but the twitch of his mouth gave him away.

“Do I have- is there something on my face?” He checked his reflection on the silver surface of the coffee machine and made an indignant noise. “You were planning on letting me walk out with that on my face!” He sputtered, swiping at the cream with a napkin. Thranduil barely managed to prevent himself from busting out laughing.

“It’s not like it’d be that much damage,” he chuckled. Haldir stuck his tongue out at him. “You-“

The sound of someone clearing their throat made Thranduil look up, and he was surprised to see Bard standing at the register, hands clasped together loosely.

“Bard,” he managed to say, moving over. There was a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before. “I-I didn’t see you come in. I apologize, were you waiting long?”

Bard flashed him a smile. “No, I just got in. Didn’t want to interrupt your conversation with your…friend, though,” he said, glancing at Haldir who was pretending to busy himself with his coffee.

Thranduil wondered what the pause in Bard’s comment meant, although he didn’t dwell on it for long. “No, no, it’s…it’s fine. By all means, interrupt,” he added dryly. “I’ve spent enough of my life listening to his drivel; any interruption is gladly welcomed.”

Bard gave a chuckle, slowly rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Sounds like you two are close,” he commented, looking up at Thranduil with a curious look on his face.

The corner of Thranduil’s mouth quirked up. “Closer than I’d like sometimes,” he replied, running his hand over the corner of the cash register absently. “Anyway,” he changed the subject, not wanting to discuss Haldir any longer (he had enough of him to last a lifetime), “What can I get you today?”

After their encounter on Saturday, Thranduil now wasn’t sure how to face Bard. Hiding his feelings wasn’t a problem until he actually had to talk to the man; with Haldir here, it would be even harder to keep his feelings a secret. He only hoped that his friend was too stupid to figure it out.

“A cappuccino, please, for here.” Bard fished out his wallet, pulling out the money as Thranduil punched the buttons on the register before moving to make the drink. Haldir raised an eyebrow at him when he returned to the coffee machine, his own drink half-finished.

“And who’s _that_?” He purred, glancing (not-so-subtly) at Bard, who was standing near one of the taller bookshelves and peering at the titles.

Thranduil didn’t look up from his work as he replied. “Nobody that’s any of your concern,” he said curtly, emptying out the tiny coffee grounds pot with more force than necessary. Haldir’s other eyebrow joined its partner.

“Oh _ho_. I see,” he said, stroking his chin. “So you’re interested in this guy?”

Thranduil nearly cussed and shot a glare at his friend (although he was seriously reconsidering that title at the moment). “ _No_ ,” he snapped, flipping the machine switch on. “But don’t get any ideas in your head either,” he added over the loud whirr of the coffee maker.

Haldir put on his most innocent look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, wide-eyed. “Come on, Thran, have a little faith in me.”

“Don’t call me that,” was Thranduil’s only reply as he drew an elegant design on top of the coffee with the frothed milk. “Here’s your order, Bard,” he called out, setting the mug gently on the raised counter. Bard spun around, a book in hand, and strode over.

“Thanks, Thranduil,” he grinned at the barista. Thranduil willed himself not to blush and focused on the book Bard was holding instead.

“ _As I Lay Dying_?” He asked, amused.

Bard reddened slightly, clearing his throat. “I thought I would educate myself a little after Saturday,” he shrugged, looking sheepish. “Maybe it’ll help me understand someone better.” He shot Thranduil another smile. “I’m willing to reconsider my bad impression of the author for him.”

Thranduil returned it with a quick smile of his own and looked down at his hands. “I wish you luck with that,” he replied, glancing back up at Bard.

Haldir, who had been glancing between them the entire time, clapped his hands together, jolting them out of their moment. Thranduil drew in a breath, cursing himself in his mind. He had been swept up in Bard’s _atmosphere_ again – he found that the man had an irresistible pull that drew him in every time they met.

“It appears that we haven’t met yet,” Haldir said, holding his hand out to Bard. “Haldir, at your service.”

Bard looked at the hand in surprise, taking it after a split second pause. “Bard, at yours.” They shook hands briefly. “Thranduil told me you two are good friends,” he remarked, curling his fingers over his book.

Haldir smiled slyly at him and Thranduil muttered, “Oh no.” He knew that expression well, and he didn’t like it one bit. The last time Haldir had that expression on his face, the entire block had to evacuate. “Oh yes, we go way back,” his friend confirmed cheerfully, turning to glance at Thranduil. “Don’t we, Thran?” He reached out to tap Thranduil on the nose.

Thranduil frowned at him in disgust, slapping his hand away. “I wish all the time that we didn’t,” he replied, folding his arms across his chest.

Bard glanced between them with a strange expression on his face. Thranduil shot him an apologetic look. “Please excuse Haldir,” he said. “He was dropped on his head as a baby, it’s fine to ignore everything he says.” He ignored Haldir’s indignant cry.

“You do seem close though,” Bard commented absently, sounding far away in his thoughts. Thranduil gave him a concerned look.

“Are you okay?”

Bard blinked, looking startled. “Sorry,” he grinned at Thranduil quickly, reaching up to take his coffee. “I had better drink this before it gets cold.” He gave Haldir an acknowledging nod. “A pleasure to meet you,” he added, turning to find a table. Thranduil noted that he didn’t answer his question.

They watched him leave in silence, before Thranduil fixed Haldir with a stony glare. “ _What_ did you do that for?” He hissed, clutching his arm so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Haldir had the gall to look innocent. “What?” He replied, shrugging. “I was just seeing who your new _friend_ was.” He turned his head to find Bard again, giving a low appreciate whistle. “And _damn_. I’d tap that,” he commented, and Thranduil snapped, “Yes, along with every other thing that walks the Earth.”

Haldir laughed at that, throwing his head back. “Give me a little credit,” he replied, taking a sip from his coffee. “I may not be the pickiest guy when it comes to my partners, but I at least limit them to human, and older than twenty-five.” He shot Thranduil a grin. “But I’m willing to back down this time. For you,” he added with a laugh.

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing like that. Don’t you have a flower shop to run?” He inquired, trying to change the subject.

“I’m on my break,” Haldir replied, draining his mug. He glanced at Thranduil’s expression and grinned. “Don’t look so pissed, Thranduil. I’m choosing to spend my precious break with you.” He glanced at his phone. “But it’s almost over anyway, so I gotta run.”

“Thank God,” Thranduil muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Haldir laughed. “I feel the love.” He took a quick glance at Bard, grinning slyly when he turned back. “Don’t miss me too much,” he added, and before Thranduil could stop him, leaned over the counter and planted a kiss on the barista’s cheek.

Thranduil’s eyes widened and he jerked away from Haldir, who laughed and whisked out of the café with a wave of his hand. “Don’t come back,” he muttered as he wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. He glanced nervously at Bard, hoping that he hadn’t seen what Haldir did. Despite Thranduil’s reluctance to act upon his feelings, he still didn’t want Bard to get the wrong idea about him and Haldir. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when he saw that Bard was frowning at his book. _At least he didn’t see that_.

A glance at the clock hanging behind the counter told him that it was about time for Legolas to get out of school. The customers were all focused on their books, computers, or conversations, and it didn’t seem like there were any new customers about to come in. Thranduil pulled out his latest book and settled down behind the counter to await his son’s arrival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I ended it at a weird place. But I wanted to post what I already had, and Legolas & co. will come next chapter. Not a lot of Bard and Thranduil, but more introducing Haldir and showing their friendship. He's so gross.


	6. don't you worry child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, i'm not dead.
> 
> EDIT: HEY EVERYONE so I fucked up and made this chapter on Wednesday afternoon while last chapter was Monday morning. Since that's obviously not correct, I changed last chapter to be on Wednesday morning instead, because I want Bard to come in on the same day. Granted, I actually wanted him to come in everyday but I fucked up again and didn't do that. SO we're gonna have to live with weekly visits, because I like routine. Sorry for the mistake, but everything should line up now.

_Don’t you worry, don’t you worry child. See, heaven’s got a plan for you._

* * *

Legolas and his friends entered the café just as Thranduil was reading the last few lines of a chapter. He placed a bookmark inside (it was something Legolas had made him during elementary school many years ago and despite its worn and faded appearance, Thranduil was loathe to throw it away) and stood up, leaving the book in his place.

His son had brought two other boys with him, talking excitedly with a short and stout boy with wild ginger hair. The other one was tall and lean, about the same height as Legolas; his dark hair and stubble made him look older, though. He was looking around the café curiously, turning while they approached the register. Thranduil eyed the trio warily.

“Dad,” Legolas smiled at him, making his way to the front of the group. Thranduil felt slightly disappointed to hear him revert back to calling him “Dad” but didn’t say anything. “Hello, Legolas,” he returned, nodding in greeting. Legolas turned slightly to bring his friends up by his side.

“These are my friends, Gimli and Aragorn,” the younger Greenleaf introduced, patting the dark-haired boy on the shoulder. “They wanted to meet you after I told them that you ran this café.”

Thranduil looked surprised. “Oh,” was all he could say, blinking. The taller one – _Aragorn_ , he reminded himself– smiled and held out his hand.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Aragorn said, and Thranduil looked at the hand hesitantly before taking it. He had a strong grip, Thranduil noted as he said likewise. He repeated the action with the shorter one, Gimli, who was stronger than he looked. “This is a wonderful café,” Aragorn commented, glancing around. “I’ve heard a lot of good things.”

Thranduil gave him a faint smile. “Thank you,” he replied, then stopped, for between Legolas and Aragorn he could see Bard glancing over at them. Forcing himself to look away, he tried to look welcoming for his son and his friends. “What can I get you three? On the house.”

Legolas shot him a startled look. “Dad, you don’t have to-“

“It’s fine, Legolas,” Thranduil interrupted, holding up a hand. “I’d gladly do it for you and your friends,” he added, earning a grateful smile.

The trio gave their orders and Thranduil moved to start making the drinks while they found a table nearby. After a few minutes, he noticed that Aragorn hadn’t gone to join Legolas and Gimli at the table, but rather was watching him work rather intensely. Clearing his throat, Thranduil asked, “Can I help you, Aragorn?”

The young man looked surprisingly apprehensive; Thranduil had pegged him as the type to be sure and confident of whatever he was doing. “Sorry, sir, but…I couldn’t help but notice that you’re looking for another hand to work around the café,” Aragorn replied hesitantly. Thranduil was silent for a moment as he worked, trying to remember what the younger was talking about. _Oh_. He glanced at the sign in the shop window. _The help wanted sign_.

“O-oh, yes, that’s right,” Thranduil affirmed after realizing that Aragorn was waiting for his reply. He placed two finished drinks on the counter. “Did you want to apply for the position?”

Aragorn nodded silently. “I realize that it might seem as if I want to apply because you’re my friend’s father, but if you ask Legolas-“

“Ask me what?” At that moment, Legolas came up to the duo, clasping a hand over Aragorn’s shoulder. He looked between his father and his friend curiously. “I was wondering why you were taking forever. Something wrong?”

Thranduil shook his head. “No, nothing’s wrong. Your friend wants to apply for a job here.”

At this Legolas’ eyebrows shot up. “ _Really_?” He asked Aragorn, who looked resigned. “Well, I’m sure he’d be a great addition, Dad,” he said to Thranduil, who raised one eyebrow himself. “Aragorn’s got good discipline and integrity, and he’s-“

“Legolas,” Aragorn interrupted his friend, placing a hand over his briefly. “Thank you.” The blond looked grinned at him sheepishly.

“Sorry,” Legolas said. “But he really is a great guy. You should consider him,” he added to his father before picking up the drinks on the counter and returning to his table.

Aragorn shook his head. “Apologies. I did not want him to vouch for me. I was going to say that I had been considering applying before-“

“It’s fine,” Thranduil shook his head. “You don’t have to explain; I trust my son’s judgment. But for official purposes, I’d like to see a resume, at the very least. When can you come back for a short interview?”

Aragorn looked relieved. “I can come back tomorrow after school again, if that’s okay.”

Thranduil nodded. “That will be fine,” he replied, thinking that he’ll probably have to ask Haldir to help him out for a little while. He moved back to the machine to make the third drink. “I’ll have your order right up, if you’ll just wait a moment,” he added to Aragorn, who nodded in affirmation.

While working on Aragorn’s drink, Thranduil glanced over at Bard. The man was still buried in his book, but at that instant, he looked up and the pair locked eyes. Thranduil quickly looked down, embarrassed that he was caught staring. Another quick glance told him that Bard was grinning, and he wanted to disappear into the ground in mortification.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyy aragorn
> 
> So, to make up for not updating in ages, here's a double chapter release! By that, I mean that here's the rest of Wednesday, which is hella short (sorry lol) and then Thursday, which is the regular size. So it's really like a one and a half chapter update.


	7. up again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the second chapter of the double release :) if you skipped right to the latest chapter, like I do whenever there's an update in a fic, please go back one chapter! this is a double update!
> 
> thank you to everyone who has left comments/kudos both during my absence and before! they're very kind and inspiring :)
> 
> this one is purely thranduil and haldir being bros. they're bros 4 lyfe. sorry, no bard though :(

_Take my life and start it somewhere else. Breathe in the change; the only way is up again._

* * *

The next morning, Thranduil shot a simple text to Haldir: _Cover for me in the afternoon._ His phone buzzed an hour later with an incoming call, and he barely got in a “good morning” before his friend cut in grumpily.

“ _Tell me exactly_ why _I have to cover for you during my break?”_ Haldir groaned, sounding like he just woke up. “ _And_ why _you had to inform me of this at 7:30 in the morning_.” Despite his grievances, his tone turned mischievous a moment later. “ _Don’t tell me that Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome put the moves on you after I left yesterday_.”

Thranduil tucked the cell between his ear and shoulder and continued prepping for opening. “ _No_ ,” he replied in annoyance. “He didn’t. Someone came in yesterday asking about the job opening, and he’s coming back for an interview this afternoon.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Haldir sounded disappointed. “ _I thought it would be more interesting than that. But hey, when did you put up a help wanted ad?_ ”

“Last week,” Thranduil said absently, turning the coffee machine on. “He’s one of Legolas’ friends; they came by yesterday.”

“ _The boy visited?”_ Haldir asked in surprise. “ _Interesting…things are turning around for you, my friend. First the guy, and now Legolas…_ ”

“Oh, shut up,” Thranduil snapped, taking the phone back in hand. “Can you come in or not? I only need you for ten minutes, tops.”

“ _Sure,_ ” Haldir said, and Thranduil could imagine him shrugging in a very Haldir-like manner. What that actually meant, Thranduil had no idea. “ _One of the perks of being boss, I guess. Can do whatever I want._ ”

“Well, aren’t you lucky,” Thranduil grumbled, setting a few fresh pastries out in the display case. The pastries were a new addition he was trying out, as they seemed to be in demand more often nowadays. The delivery boy dropped the cases off at 7:15 sharp every morning, which meant Thranduil had to be in the shop earlier than before – something that he did not relish.

Haldir chuckled. “ _Hey, now I’m helping you out so you can hopefully do the same,_ ” he said cheerfully, sounding a lot more awake. He always handled mornings better than Thranduil.

“Yeah, yeah. Just be here at your usual time.” The blond shut the lid to the display case, placing the tongs on a nearby plate.

“ _Will do. Better have a mocha waiting for me, though_.”

Thranduil ignored him and hung up.

* * *

“You have no right to try and stop me.”

It was late afternoon, and Thranduil was glaring daggers at Haldir, who had an innocent look in his eyes. “ _Excuse me_ ,” the barista retorted. “But since this is _my_ café, I think I have the every right!”

“Yes, but think about how good of an idea a peanut butter latte is!” Haldir protested, his hand wrapped around the spoon dunked inside the peanut butter jar. “Just a dollop of peanut butter in the coffee,” he coaxed. “It’ll be delicious, I promise you.” He lifted a spoonful of peanut butter out of the jar and held it over the latte sitting on the counter.

Thranduil grabbed the guilty hand before his friend could make the biggest (and possibly the grossest) mistake in coffee history. “Have you even _tried_ putting peanut butter in coffee like this?” He asked in a desperate attempt to reason with the blond.

Haldir paused in his struggle against Thranduil’s grip (“ _Damn_ , for a recluse you’re awfully strong”) and looked thoughtful. “No,” he replied simply, and Thranduil groaned. He didn’t have the time or patience to deal with Haldir’s antics; a quick glance at the clock told him that Aragorn would be arriving any minute.

“Whatever,” he grumbled, letting go of the other’s hand. “Just don’t even think about giving that abomination to a customer, or we’re no longer friends.”

“So harsh,” Haldir laughed, promptly dunking the spoonful of peanut butter into the coffee and stirring, much to Thranduil’s horror. Haldir took a gulp of the coffee and instantly made a face of disgust, setting the cup down. Thranduil regarded him with amusement.

“So how was it?” He asked, entertained by his friend’s expressions.

Haldir swallowed the coffee with much difficulty before answering. “Great,” he rasped, looking pained. “It was just _great_.”

“Wonderful,” Thranduil smiled slyly. “It’d be such a pity to waste it.” He handed Haldir the rest of the disgusting mixture. “Drink up-“

At that moment, the door to the café opened and Aragorn stepped in, looking slightly anxious; spotting Thranduil, he made a straight beeline for the counter. “Hello,” he started, sounding a little breathless. Thranduil wondered briefly if he had run to the café.

“Good afternoon,” he returned with a nod. “Please, pick a table. I’ll be right out with some papers for you to fill out.”

At that Aragorn nodded and turned to find an empty table, setting his dark green backpack down at the foot of his chair. Haldir, who had secretly dumped the peanut-butter-and-coffee mixture down the drain, regarded him with interest. “So that’s the kid who’s applying for the job?” He asked Thranduil, who was in the back room digging through a folder.

“Yeah,” Thranduil replied absently, shuffling through papers. “To be honest, he seems like a good kid, especially if he’s friends with Legolas, and I’d be fine with giving him the job. All of this,” he waved a piece of paper in the air, “Is just for official…ness.” He pulled out another sheet and placed the folder back into the cabinet.

Haldir hummed in thought as Thranduil stepped around the counter to join Aragorn. “Thank you for waiting,” the barista said, taking a seat. “First, why don’t you look over these?”

* * *

Half an hour later, Thranduil and Aragorn shook hands, standing up from their seats. “Come in at the agreed time tomorrow, then,” Thranduil said. Aragorn nodded once, saying a thank you before shouldering his backpack and making his way out of the café.

“Interesting kid,” Haldir commented as Thranduil filed the papers away in the back room. “Seems a bit serious though,” he added with a grin. “A lot like a certain person I know.”

Thranduil dusted his hands off and shot Haldir a glare. “As long as he does the job well, that’s no concern of mine.” His friend shrugged in response. “I hope you didn’t end up poisoning anyone while I was interviewing Aragorn,” Thranduil changed the topic.

“Well, seeing as nobody has fallen to the ground foaming at the mouth just yet, I’d say I’m in the clear,” Haldir grinned, putting his hands on his hips. Thranduil rolled his eyes.

“Just barely,” he muttered, wiping the counter down with a rag. “Now, I don’t need your help anymore, so please leave,” he requested.

Haldir placed a hand over his heart and faked a hurt expression. “So harsh,” he cried, much to Thranduil’s exasperation. “Going so far as to kick your _friend_ out? Do you hate me that much? Or is it…” His expression turned sly. “A certain dark-haired man is stopping by today, and you want him all to yourself?”

Thranduil tried to look nonchalant. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied irritably, turning away. “He only comes in Wednesdays, anyway,” he muttered under his breath.

Haldir laughed loudly at that, his sharp ears picking up Thranduil’s last remark despite the volume. “So you _do_ like him!” He said gleefully, poking Thranduil’s arm provocatively. “You even have his schedule memorized!”

The barista gritted his teeth. “Don’t you have someone else to piss off?” He snapped, pushing the other’s hand away. “ _Leave_ , before I kick you out. _Literally_.”

Haldir held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave.” He began to back out from behind the counter. “Oh, but.” Once on the other side, he turned back around to give Thranduil a cheeky grin. “I bet you wish Bard came in on days other than Wednesday, huh?”

He ducked to avoid the pack of coffee filters that Thranduil threw at his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeaaahh I didn't proofread these, because I don't like reading my stuff right after writing them. if you spot any mistakes, let me know!


	8. chasing you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update once a week? hahaha no
> 
> sorry for the delay!! I procrastinated hardcore after the last update before realizing that time passes a lot faster than i freaking thought. I also started travelling for work this month, so I've been writing this in bits and pieces. hopefully they fit together??? pls tell me if something doesnt make sense.  
> thank you for your lovely comments everyone, I'm so touched by your love for my humble fic

_Chasing you, it’s the only thing I want to do. But now I’m facing you, what the hell am I supposed to do?_

* * *

 The week following Aragorn’s interview and subsequent hiring was eventful, in the boy’s case. Apparently news of his new job spread through his school like wildfire, despite his attempts to keep the news between his closest friends. Multiple times after the café closed, Thranduil found himself assuring the boy that it was quite fine for his friends (or secret admirers) to visit. It only meant more customers, which is why he was hired in the first place, Thranduil explained.

Aragorn still looked doubtful, but didn’t say any more after that.

Haldir stopped by everyday still, although his visits were a bit shorter than normal. “My employee finally found the guts to complain, so I think I better oblige for a while,” he remarked on Wednesday afternoon, cheek cradled in one palm. “There was suddenly an influx of customers last week while I was covering for you, and he was scared out of his pants,” he added with a laugh. Thranduil snorted despite the fact that it was technically his fault (they were honestly past the point of putting the blame on each other for problems).

“I’m surprised he hasn’t quit on you yet, with your personality,” the barista commented, finishing a drink with a flourish of whipped cream.

“You wound me,” Haldir pouted, causing Thranduil to give him a look of disgust. “I think I have a very charming personality. All my customers say so. They love me.” He smiled flirtatiously at the man picking up his drink.

Thranduil rolled his eyes as the man blushed, then looked confused. “I’d appreciate if you would stop seducing my customers,” he snapped, taking the next order from Aragorn. “Besides, if your employee is complaining, shouldn’t you be in your shop instead of wasting time here?”

Haldir shrugged. “This is actually my break time, for real. So as long as I’m back by two-thirty, I’m all good.” He smiled cunningly. “On another note,” he glanced at Aragorn, who was busy with another customer. “Today is Wednesday.”

Thranduil glared at him icily. “So what?”

His friend groaned. “Come on, enough with the ignorant act already! You know what I’m talking about.” He made an impatient gesture as Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “ _Bard!_ He should be coming in today, right?”

Thranduil pressed his lips together. “My life doesn’t exactly revolve around him, you know,” he remarked stiffly, turning his attention to the coffee grinder. He set the dial and clicked it on, and the machine whirred to life.

Haldir sighed in exasperation. “If you just admitted it to yourself, this would be so much easier,” he muttered, letting his head drop past his shoulders.

“Just leave already,” Thranduil retaliated, to which Haldir grudgingly relented and hopped off the counter seat. Glancing out the window, he grinned and turned back to the barista.

“By the way, dinner later this week?” Haldir asked nonchalantly, leaning against the countertop casually. Thranduil glanced up from the mocha he was fixing.

“I see you everyday in the afternoon, and now I have to see you in the evening too?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Haldir shrugged. “Thought it’d be nice to see the kid, too,” he said, smiling impishly.

Thranduil gave him a suspicious look, but nodded reluctantly. “Just text me when you’re free,” he said, setting the fresh cup onto the counter. “Now _leave_. I think your employee might have a stroke if you leave him alone too long,” he made a shooing motion at his friend, who laughed and reached over the counter to tuck a lock of Thranduil’s hair behind his ear.

“Don’t get too lonely without me,” he said in parting, throwing a wink at the girl who came to pick up the mocha, much to Thranduil’s chagrin.

“I told that idiot to stop flirting with my customers,” he muttered, bringing a hand up to his forehead in exasperation.

“Did I come at a bad time?”

Thranduil’s head snapped up. _Bard!_

“Yes, me,” said person replied, bemused. Thranduil’s cheeks turned pink. _I said that out loud?_

“I, er. Didn’t see you come in,” he said, feeling flustered already (he was glad that he tied his hair up today, otherwise he feared that he might overheat).

Bard’s smile seemed to dim for a split second. “Ah, well. You did seem to be a little _preoccupied_ ,” he commented, running a hand through his hair.

Thranduil picked up the next order slip and glanced at it distractedly. “True, Haldir _does_ tend to take up one’s entire attention with his… _colorful_ personality,” he shrugged, dumping the old coffee grinds out of the tiny pot with more force than necessary. When Bard didn’t reply, he glanced up worriedly, hoping that he hadn’t given Bard the wrong idea. The other man had his hand over his mouth, looking apprehensive. _Oh god, I must’ve offended him in some way, he must hate me now or something-_ Thranduil paled and tried to follow up.

“Look, Bard, I-“

“Listen, I was wondering-“

The both spoke at the same time, then stopped abruptly, startled. Bard laughed as Thranduil reddened. “Sorry,” he said, busying himself with stuffing new grinds into the empty pot. “Go ahead.”

Bard cleared his throat. “I was just gonna say, uh- I mean, are- Are you-“ He stopped, looking defeated and muttered under his breath.

Thranduil gave him a concerned look, causing him to laugh sheepishly. “I’m so sorry, I must seem incredibly strange. It’s just, do- do you wanna grab a drink sometime?” Bard asked nervously. “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to,” he added in a rush before Thranduil could respond. “I understand that it’s kind of awkward when you’re in a relationship, but I was hoping that we could be friends or even just drinking buddies would be fine but if your boyfriend is opposed to that too I totally understand-“

“Wait, wait, wait,” Thranduil cut through Bard’s tirade, holding up a hand. The other man clamped his mouth shut, his face uncharacteristically red. “I have a _boyfriend_? Who?”

Bard furrowed his brow. “Isn’t that guy- the one with blond hair like yours, but shorter? Aren’t you two…er, dating?” He finished quietly.

Thranduil’s eyes widened and he vehemently shook his head in denial. “ _Haldir_? Not in a million years,” he said with a grimace, and Bard heaved a great exhale and sank down into a crouch, hand running through his hair. Thranduil leaned over the counter in concern. “Are you alright?”

To that Bard laughed in amusement, shaking his head. “I’m fine,” he answered, lifting his head to meet Thranduil’s eyes with a warm smile. “I’m absolutely, positively fine.”

As he stood back up, Thranduil cleared his throat awkwardly, having been mesmerized by Bard’s expression. “Glad that’s cleared up, then,” he remarked, tucking a lock of hair behind an ear.

Bard looked embarrassed. “Sorry about the misunderstanding,” he began, but Thranduil simply shook his head.

“It’s fine,” he said with a quick smile. Bard returned it with a bigger one of his own, and Thranduil’s heart skipped a couple beats.

“Um, sorry to interrupt,” a quiet voice said from beside Thranduil, causing the pair to jump; Aragorn was standing by the barista with an extremely awkward expression on his face. “But there are a few customers wanting their orders, and…”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Thranduil answered quickly, scrambling to fit the pot he had been holding for the past few minutes into the coffee machine. He could feel the tips of his ears turning red with embarrassment as there were a few amused smiles and grins among the waiting customers.

“So, if you’re not _too_ put off by my idiocy,” Bard said with a cough, looking embarrassed himself. “Would you still like to go for a drink with me?”

Thranduil paused, about to pour milk into a waiting mug. He set it down before he could pour it all over the counter instead. “Yes, of- of course, I would love to,” he replied dazedly, wondering if he somehow abruptly fell asleep in the middle of working and was currently dreaming.

“Great,” Bard said, looking relieved. “Fantastic. I don’t want to distract you from your work anymore, but, um, here-” He pulled out a scrap of paper from his pocket and plucked a pen from the jar next to the register, scribbling something down. “Why don’t you text me when you’re free? So we can set up a time.”

“Okay,” Thranduil replied quietly, carefully placing the paper into his pocket. Bard took a step back from the counter, sticking the pen back into the jar, and stuffed his hands into his own pockets.

“Well, I’ll see you around then, Thranduil,” he smiled before heading towards the door, gone before Thranduil realized that he hadn’t waited for his coffee.

The blond stared after him in wonder. “He said my name,” he murmured to himself, picking up the milk again.

Aragorn, who had been watching the exchange silently, spoke up. “He didn’t have an order,” he said thoughtfully, placing another slip on the counter. “He came to see you directly.”

The tips of Thranduil’s ears reddened and he busied himself with making another drink. “Oh,” was all he could think of to say amidst the loud thumping of his heart in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love haldir. haldir brings people together. or apart. actually what an asshole.


	9. real love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this suddenly??? came out of nowhere???? I actually wrote this in one day basically, but I edited it between yesterday and today. I debated between posting it next week or now but I didn't want it sitting on my laptop uselessly lmao.
> 
> as usual, thank you to everyone who has been commenting/leaving kudos/just plain ol' reading!!! i love seeing what everyone has to say about each chapter or development. that being said, I definitely welcome constructive criticism too :)
> 
> anyway, enjoy those two lovebirds on their "not-date" (it's totally a date)

_Oh, before you I was searching for a rarity. Oh, you showed me things I'd never thought that I would see._

* * *

  _Hello, this is Thranduil. Are you free tomorrow night?_

_Hey, glad to hear from you. I am now._

_I hope you didn’t cancel anything just now…_

_Not anything important, I can assure you. 8:30 ok?_

_Yes, fine. Did you have a place in mind?_

_Aye, I have a favorite spot I like to go to. I’ll text you the address._

* * *

 Thranduil stared into the depths of his closet, wringing the hem of his T-shirt in despair at its contents. It was currently 8 P.M., he was due to meet Bard in half an hour, and he had no idea what he was going to wear.

“Just wear your favorite shirt or something,” Haldir said from where he was lounging on Thranduil’s bed. Out of desperation the barista had called his friend for advice, but now he was beginning to regret it, like every other decision he made involving Haldir.

“I don’t have one,” Thranduil replied, running a hand through his hair nervously. The majority of his wardrobe consisted of T-shirts and jeans, and that was what he felt most comfortable in. However, he didn’t want to dress like he did every day for something like this.

“Ask the kid for advice then,” Haldir said to the ceiling, having fallen onto his back. “He seems pretty fashionable, _and_ he’s a high schooler. They have pretty good taste nowadays.”

Thranduil frowned. “We’re…still not there yet,” he admitted reluctantly, turning to sit on the end of the bed next to his friend. “And besides, he might consider it strange for his father to ask him for advice on what to wear to a…a-“

“Date,” Haldir finished for him, turning his head to peer up at Thranduil, who flushed.

“It’s not a date,” he muttered, hitting Haldir half-heartedly with a pillow. “We’re just meeting for drinks as _friends_ ,” he emphasized the last word. “Nothing more. He even said that he was hoping to be…friends…” He trailed off with a sigh.

“There, there,” Haldir said, sitting up to put an arm around Thranduil’s shoulders comfortingly. “ _I_ think it’s a date, if he came out of his way to ask you. Have hope.”

Thranduil shrugged and stood up. “I think there is little hope, I’m afraid.” Pausing, he turned to Haldir with a frown. “Maybe this is a bad idea after all. I should text him and say that something came up,” he said anxiously, reaching for his phone.

“ _No_ ,” Haldir quickly grabbed the phone and stuck it under his shirt. “You are going on this date –and _yes,_ it is a date– and you are going to have the time of your life with him and then you two are going to start dating and then you’ll finally stop moping around like a lost puppy,” he finished triumphantly.

Thranduil gave him an annoyed look. “That’s not going to happen, and I do _not_ mope like a lost puppy,” he shook his head. “And don’t put my phone there; who knows when’s the last time you showered.”

“Yesterday, actually,” Haldir said with a shrug, but removed the phone all the same and placed it out of reach instead. “Look, you have-” he checked the time, “-fifteen minutes to change and get your butt over to the bar, so here.” He got up and strode over to the closet, surveying its contents before pulling out a black V-neck and dark jeans. “Put these on. I think black looks good on people like us.”

“People like us?” Thranduil raised an eyebrow, taking the clothes. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, people with dashing good looks and beautiful hair given by the gods,” his friend grinned, sitting back down on the bed as Thranduil changed. Discreetly, he picked up Thranduil’s phone and snapped a photo of the barista’s bare back before sending it to Bard. He threw the phone back down just as Thranduil turned back around, buttoning up the jeans.

“What are you doing?” He asked suspiciously, pushing up his sleeves.

“Nothing,” Haldir said innocently, standing up to make last adjustments to his friend’s outfit. “There, what’d I tell you?” He said, changing the subject. “You look smokin’ hot. Bard will eat you _up_ ,” he added with a mischievous grin.

“Shut up,” Thranduil said, smacking him over the head. He pulled his hair over one shoulder and tucked his phone and wallet into his pockets.

The duo headed out of the bedroom and towards the front entrance, where Thranduil tugged on his shoes just as Legolas came downstairs.

“Dad?” He asked curiously. “Are you going somewhere?”

Thranduil looked up, startled. “Y-yes, I am. Er, I’m going to meet with a friend,” he added quickly after Haldir elbowed him in the side. He responded with a pinch to the arm.

“Oh,” Legolas looked bemused, but shrugged. “Okay. Is Haldir going too?”

“ _No_ ,” Thranduil shot a glare at his friend. “Haldir is going _home_.”

Haldir gave him a wide-eyed look. “What, did you think I was going to _follow_ you or something?” He grinned. “I was actually thinking about babysitting the kid while you’re with your _friend_.” He stepped over to throw an arm around Legolas’ shoulders.

Thranduil frowned. “Legolas is old enough to take care of himself,” he began, but Legolas interrupted.

“That would be cool with me,” he said with a smile, much to Haldir’s delight and Thranduil’s dismay.

“Fine,” Thranduil sighed after a moment. “Just don’t trash the house,” he added to Haldir, who shot him an innocent look.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” his friend said, and Thranduil rolled his eyes. “Have fun,” he added with a snicker as Thranduil stepped out of the house, and Legolas waved bye.

As the door swung shut behind him, he heard Legolas say, “Wanna play Wii Sports?”

* * *

 Thranduil tentatively pushed the door to the bar open, already feeling overwhelmed by the chatty atmosphere. He rarely came to these types of places – the last time had been a couple years after graduating from college. Gone were the days of drunken partying and wild nights; nowadays, Thranduil usually felt too weary after a day’s work to go anywhere but home.

Half of him wanted to turn right around and walk out from the bar, but at that moment he heard someone call his name, and he turned his head to see Bard waving at him from a small table in the middle of the room.

“Hey,” Bard greeted him with a smile as Thranduil sat down. “You look…great,” he added, glancing at Thranduil’s shirt before reddening. The barista didn’t know if he wanted to blush or what.

“Er, thank you,” he said uncertainly, feeling restless in his seat. “Did you wait long?”

Bard shook his head. “No, I got here a couple minutes before you. Managed to grab a table, though; this bar is pretty busy at this time.” He glanced at Thranduil. “Do you have any preferences for your drink?”

Thranduil stopped looking around the bar and turned back to Bard with a shake of his head. “Something light, I suppose. Or wine. I’m not really one for beer.”

The other man nodded and flagged down a waitress, who whisked away as quickly as she had come after Bard gave her their orders, and soon returned with a glass filled to the brim with a dark beer, as well as a wine-filled glass.

“Cheers,” Bard said as they picked up their respective drinks, and they clinked glasses together before each taking a sip. It took a moment for Thranduil to become accustomed to the taste (he always preferred wine over beer, and even then he usually had coffee instead. Wine was reserved for nights when he felt good about himself, and those were far and few in between) and he swirled the wine around the glass a couple times.

Bard exhaled after another mouthful of beer and rested his arms on the tabletop. “How have you been since I last saw you?” He asked with a smile. Thranduil relaxed a bit at his easy manner.

“Busy as usual,” he replied, taking another sip of his drink. “Thank you for- for coming to see me the other day,” he added hesitantly, setting his glass down. “I noticed that you didn’t order anything so I assumed that you went out of your way to drop by.”

Bard laughed sheepishly. “Aye, you’ve caught me,” he said, a corner of his mouth quirking up in mirth. “I had appointments that ran back to back that day, so it was unfortunate that I wasn’t able to come in for my usual coffee.” He took another swig of beer.

“But I had wanted to invite you to a drink for a while, and it had been sitting in the back of my mind this whole time. I happened to be passing by your café that day on my way to my office, so I thought it was either now or never.”

Thranduil felt the tips of his ears redden at this statement, and, not quite sure how to respond, quickly took another sip of wine and changed the subject. “By the way, you’ve never told me what your occupation is,” he remarked, staring at the dark liquid.

“Oh, well,” Bard paused. “I guess you could call me a businessman,” he said slowly, looking at the ceiling in thought. “My company is Dale Industries.” He glanced over at Thranduil as if expecting him to say something.

Thranduil was confused. He knew of Dale Industries, of course, but large corporations and their fame never meant anything to him. “Is that supposed to mean something?” He raised an eyebrow, to which Bard laughed.

“I guess not,” he replied with a grin. “Now that I think about it, you don’t strike me as the type to care for famous people or businesses.” He paused in thought. “So I also guess it doesn’t mean anything if I tell you that I’m the president of Dale Industries, either.”

Thranduil shook his head. “That sounds important, but the world outside of my home means nothing to me,” he murmured.

“That sounds like a nice way to live,” Bard commented, turning his glass on the table.

“Most people would say that’s a bad thing,” Thranduil responded with a wry smile.

Bard scratched his cheek. “Well, to care for only that which is important, like family, is somewhat of a blessing. Things such wealth and status are so materialistic, yet people are so concerned about them.” His tone turned melancholy. “My status, it’s- it’s not something I like to flaunt.”

Thranduil looked at him quizzically. “Why is that?” He asked.

Bard shrugged. “I find that people try to get close to me for my position,” he said with a short laugh. “Far too many have wanted me for my money than my real self.”

“Oh,” Thranduil said solemnly. He looked down at his hands for a moment, then spoke, softly. “You know I don’t like you because of your status, correct?” He paused, then realized the implications of his words and flushed. “I- I mean- I don’t talk to you or treat you as a friend because of that,” he quickly corrected, waving his hands in front of his face in embarrassment as Bard chuckled.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a laugh. “I know you’re far too kind to do that.” He gave Thranduil a warm smile.

 _Again with that expression_. Thranduil returned the smile despite himself, glancing away after a moment. “I…my wife died a few years after my son was born,” he began, not daring to look at Bard. “In the first place, I wasn’t someone who liked being around many people anyway, but after her death, I pushed everyone away even more.” He paused, struggling to find the right words. “The only people who still stuck by my side despite that were very few. Even now, I only keep in touch with them occasionally, Haldir being the only exception. So I don’t…treat someone as a friend lightly.” He took a breath, then lifted his head to look Bard in the eyes.

“But I consider you to be someone close to me,” he continued, feeling his hands clutch his leg tightly anxiously. _What am I even saying?_ “I think you’re an incredible person, even though we’ve only met a handful of times. But all those encounters meant something to me, and all those people who couldn’t see past your position just missed out on something- some _one_ fantastic.” Thranduil felt his face burn as he finished, and he stared at his hands as Bard’s silence stretched on.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, making to get up. “I’ve said something ridiculous, I think I better- I better go-“

“ _No_ ,” Bard interjected, reaching out to catch Thranduil’s wrist before he could stand up. “Don’t apologize. I just was blown away,” he smiled. “I don’t know what I’ve done in my life to be able to meet someone like you, but I’m damn glad that I did. Listen, Thranduil – _you’re_ the amazing one.” His hand on Thranduil’s wrist moved to cover his hand instead. “I’m so very glad to have met you,” he said carefully, looking into the blond’s eyes. “I want to say thank you, for being…someone close to me.”

Thranduil felt the butterflies in his stomach do somersaults. Never in his life had he felt this way about another person, not even his deceased wife. Never before had someone been able to elicit this sort of behavior or feeling from him. “No,” he murmured, glancing at their joined hands. “Thank _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow they are so fucking sappy i need to call 911


	10. waste (bard)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY IM STILL ALIVE
> 
> sorry for the wait, but here's bard's chapter!

_And every day that you want to change, that you want to change, yeah. I’ll help you see it through, ‘cause I just really want to be with you._

* * *

 Bard didn’t know what prompted him to listen to Gandalf for once and enter the infamous Woodland Coffee and Books. Upon looking back on it, Bard supposed that it was probably fate, or something that sounded equally romantic, that made him open the door to the small, yet popular café.

The first time that Bard laid eyes upon Thranduil, he thought that the blond was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He wasn’t sure _why_ , but something about him just set Bard’s heart on overdrive. He had his fair share of crushes on both males and females alike, but this was the first time that he had seen anyone as beautiful as Thranduil.

So he indiscreetly straightened his coat, mourning the fact that it had started pouring the _moment_ he stepped out the door, and tried not to make a fool of himself in front of someone who looked to be akin to a god. It didn’t help that Thranduil apparently had the personality of an _angel_.

Bard knew from the moment Thranduil spoke that he was definitely screwed, and not in the way that he wanted.

* * *

 “Da?”

Bard looked up from the book he was trying to concentrate on to see his oldest, Sigrid, giving him a curious look. “Yes darling?”

“Have you, uh. Is there any chance you’ve _met_ someone?” She asked nonchalantly, sitting down by him on the couch with her hands in her lap.

Bard blinked and tried not to think about the way his thoughts immediately turned to Thranduil. “What brought this on, darling?” He tried to evade the question.

“ _We--ll_ ,” she dragged the word out. “I’ve just noticed- actually, we’ve all noticed- that you seem, I dunno. _Happier_ nowadays. Less stressed out.” She shrugged. “We know that you’ve been taking on a lot since…since mom left,” she continued quietly, looking at her hands. “But I don’t want you to have to give up having a life because of that. I mean, Bain and I are old enough to cook and do more stuff around the house, and Tilda is almost out of elementary. You don’t have to do everything by yourself, you know.”

“Oh, darling,” Bard said, lifting a hand to brush a lock of hair out of his daughter’s face. He hadn’t realized that she had been noticing these things about him; now looking at her, he was hit by the fact that the little girl who always demanded piggy-back rides and bedtime lullabies wasn’t so little anymore. “I’m sorry for making you worry, but I’m fine, _really_. And I don’t want _you guys_ to give up your lives either,” he added, pinching her cheek lightly like he always did despite her protests. “You’re still young! You should be out, I don’t know, partying or going off on adventures instead of worrying about your little ol’ dad. That should be _my_ job to worry about you, not the other way around.”

Sigrid smiled. “But without me to worry about you, who would keep you in line?” She teased, pinching him back.

Bard laughed at that. “True,” he conceded, ruffling her hair. “How about we start keeping an eye out for each other,” he suggested. “And whatever you want to start doing around the house, you let me know and we can do some sort of trade or compromise. Deal?” He held his hand out for a shake.

Sigrid rolled her eyes. “Ever the businessman,” she groaned, but took his offered hand. “But you still haven’t answered the question.”

Now it was Bard’s turn to groan. “Okay, I may have met a new friend,” he admitted, closing the book in his lap. “But that’s all it is, just friends.”

Sigrid raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Is your _friend_ that man we met at Bain’s archery match last weekend? What’s his name,” she pretended to rub her chin in thought. “Theodore? Thaddeus?”

“Thranduil,” Bard corrected, and Sigrid grinned.

“So it _is_ him?” She asked a little too optimistically. “Wow, Da. You’ve only met once and you guys already exchanged numbers or something?”

Bard chuckled sheepishly. “Well, actually I see him at the café he works at,” he admitted, feeling guilty for some odd reason.

Sigrid’s jaw dropped. “ _Oh my God, Da_ ,” she exclaimed. “Have you been like, slowly wooing him with each visit? Are you gonna ask him out? _Where is this coffee shop?_ ”

“Whoa there, girl, slow down,” Bard laughed, putting up his hands to ward off her numerous questions. “I just go to say hello and grab a cup of coffee in my break, and nothing else.” He fixed her with a hard stare. “And it will _continue_ to be nothing, okay? Are we clear?”

His daughter pouted but nodded. “Okay, okay, fine. But at least tell me where his café is!” She clapped her hands together and gave him her best puppy-dog look.

Bard sighed. “It’s the one called Woodland Coffee and Books, that’s all I’ll tell you,” he answered reluctantly, although it was lost on Sigrid, who looked positively shocked.

“ _Woodland Coffee and Books?_ Good grief Da, you sure know how to pick them,” Sigrid exclaimed, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You know the owner of that shop is known for being extremely popular with the female population in the area? A lot of the girls at school talk about him all the time,” she added.

“Well, that doesn’t come as much of a surprise as it should be,” Bard remarked without thinking, much to Sigrid’s delight.

“You sure you two are just friends?” She asked teasingly, to which Bard waved her off in mock irritation.

“Enough! Away with you,” he said, shooing her off the couch. “I don’t want to be talking about this with my own daughter. Don’t you have your own love life to deal with or something?”

“ _Aha!_ So you _do_ like him!” Sigrid declared triumphantly, escaping upstairs before Bard could catch her.

* * *

 In the weeks following his conversation with Sigrid, Bard was in a constant mental battle with himself. He was well aware of his attraction to the quiet coffee shop owner since the moment they met, and there were times when it seemed as if his feelings were reciprocated; however, every moment that Bard thought he might have a chance, something would occur that told him otherwise – the latest being the fact that Thranduil may or may not already be dating someone.

Bard sighed as he spun a slow circle in his cushioned desk chair, deep in thought. ‘ _It’s not only that_ ,’ he reflected, staring through the skylight blankly as he turned. ‘ _It’s just been so long since I’ve…felt this way. After everything with Emilia, the divorce, the kids…_ ’ He groaned and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, frustrated. “Why can’t I just do what I want…?!” He muttered angrily.

“Um, sir?”

The quiet voice made Bard open his eyes in surprise, and he spun his chair around to see his secretary standing in his office doorway, looking apprehensive.

“Oh, it’s just you,” he sighed. “What’s up?”

The small brunette held up a folder. “The files you requested arrived,” she explained, and quickly approached his desk to set them down.

“Fantastic, thank you so much,” he smiled, glad that at least _one_ thing was working out in his life.

His secretary nodded and made to leave, but paused at the doorway. “Oh, and sir?”

“Hmm?”

She hesitated, but continued. “Excuse me for being bold, but in my opinion, if you want something, you should just go for it. It’s unlike you to hesitate over decisions too long.” She took a quick bow and practically ran out of the office.

Bard stared after her in surprise. It was rare for her to speak her mind, and he felt somewhat guilty for letting his personal turmoil affect his work. He flipped through a few of the files without actually retaining any information, all while mulling over his secretary’s words.

‘ _She’s right_ ,’ he thought, flipping the folder closed in defeat. “I was never one to think twice about what I felt was right anyway.”

* * *

 The day after his night out with Thranduil, Bard couldn’t stop smiling at the sweet memory of Thranduil’s warm hand in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> faced a little bit of block at the end of this chapter. i debated a lot on adding new stuff in bard's pov, but it felt too forced. so i decided to leave it at where it is now. hopefully the story will move along a bit more from now on.


	11. the saltwater room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "hello, it's me." thank you to people who have been reading/giving kudos and comments in my absence. it's you guys that brought me back from the dead. this is my christmas gift to you.
> 
> new chapter is a bit short, but i'm hoping to dish out longer ones soon!! happy holidays!

_Time together isn’t ever quite enough. When you and I are alone, I’ve never felt so at home. What will it take to make or break this hint of love? Only time._

* * *

“Hey.”

Thranduil hadn’t had such a good night in years. Going out with Bard three nights ago had made him feel _happy_ , something that was somewhat foreign to him since the accident. They had both deep and lighthearted conversations about anything and everything, and the blond was quite intrigued to discover that Bard apparently knew a lot of interesting but useless facts. _“They’re good conversation starters,”_ he had said with a wink that had made the tips of Thranduil’s ears turn red (he blamed it on the wine).

“Thranduil.”

His mind drifted back to the memory of Bard’s hand over his and fought down a blush and a smile. _‘That was just a friendly gesture,’_ he chided himself, albeit a little half-heartedly. Thranduil said some nice things about him and the other man was showing his appreciation. It didn’t mean anythin-

“ _Thanduil!_ The coffee!”

The barista jolted out of his thoughts. Tauriel was staring at him –or his hand, actually– in horror as Aragon hovered anxiously with a dishtowel, unsure of what to do as his manager poured scalding coffee all over his own hand. Thranduil jumped into action, hissing curses under his breath as he stuck his hand under the faucet, cold water running over his fingers.

“Apologies,” he said to Aragorn, who decided that the only thing he could do to help at the moment was mop up the spilled coffee with the rag. The younger shook his head with a smile.

“It’s fine,” he replied, throwing the dirty rag in the bucket and grabbing a clean one. “More importantly, is your hand okay? Do you need a wrap?”

Thranduil turned the water off and patted his hand dry. “No, it’s fine,” he murmured with a sigh, waving the boy off after inspecting the red skin. Across the counter, Tauriel raised an elegant eyebrow at him.

“Care to share what’s on your mind?” She asked, taking a sip from her own cup. “That was very unlike you. I don’t think you’ve ever spilled a single drop before, let alone overflow an entire mug.” The redhead’s tone was light, but her expression betrayed her concern.

Thranduil didn’t meet her gaze as he set about making a new cup to replace the ruined one. Even though it was just an overflow, he would never let a customer go with a “repaired” drink, as he called it. “It’s nothing,” he replied, sounding very mature and definitely _not_ like a petulant teenager. “I just was thinking.”

Tauriel gave an exaggerated sigh and waved her hand in a “go on” gesture. “And what were you thinking _about_?”

“I’m afraid that’s my business, and mine alone.” Thranduil pressed his lips together tightly as a signal that he was unwilling to go further in the matter. Tauriel, however, wasn’t about to let it drop so easily.

“Come on,” she said with an exasperated look. “Obviously something is weighing on your mind, enough that you’ve let it affect your work. You know I’m right,” she added at the incredulous look Thranduil shot her.

“It’s nothing serious,” he reassured her after a moment of silence. He fetched a clean cup and saucer from the shelf and carefully filled it with coffee, making sure to watch it fill this time around.

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the _friend_ you met up with on Friday, would it?” Tauriel asked casually, her own cup held delicately between slender fingers, and it took all of Thranduil’s self-control to not choke on air.

“Excuse me, _what_?” He wasn’t able to control his mouth, however.

Tauriel grinned at him triumphantly. “A _ha!_ I knew it had something to do with that.” She narrowed her eyes. “You went on a date, didn’t you?”

Thranduil frowned. “It was not a date,” he muttered in protest, setting the finished coffee on the counter and calling out the order. Tauriel waited until the customer left with the drink to reply, opting to take a sip from her own.

“But you did go out with someone, then?”

The barista sighed. “Just with a friend,” he replied in defeat, leaning against the lower counter with arms crossed. He gave her a suspicious stare. “How did you even know that I went out on Friday?”

Tauriel smiled innocently. “Oh, just ran into Legolas yesterday. Imagine my surprise when he mentioned that his _father_ actually left the house _willingly_ a couple nights ago, to meet with a _friend_ nonetheless.” She snickered behind her mug. “I think he was still in shock, to be honest. And he’s not the only one,” she added.

Thranduil groaned inwardly as Tauriel drained her cup. “So,” she continued brightly. “Who’s your new _friend_?”

“Nobody,” Thranduil snapped, maybe a bit too harshly because Tauriel paused in her gleeful prodding to give him a frown.

“Are you sure? They seem to be leaving an impression on you,” she remarked. “Wait.” She stopped, eyes shining. “Is it that guy I met at Legolas’ meet? The handsome one, with the three children- What was his name? Brad? Brandon?”

Thranduil was saved from answering, because at that moment Aragorn slid a new order over, and the blond nearly snatched it off the countertop in his rush to escape the identification of his new _friend_. He left Tauriel to her name-guessing game and began making the order with ease, flipping a switch to grind some more coffee beans.

“Oh, I got it!” He heard her cry triumphantly over the whirr of the machine. “It’s _Bard_!”

“What?” He said, pretending to not hear her.

“Your new friend, it’s Bard, isn’t it?” She tried again, a little louder this time.

Thranduil opted to fake deafness under the sound of the coffee grinder, gesturing to it haplessly and shrugging. _‘Sorry, can’t hear you,’_ he mouthed, and ducked behind the machine (a slightly difficult feat, considering that he was a good head taller than it) to dodge her questions.

Tauriel threw up her hands in exasperation.

* * *

That night, Thranduil received a text from Bard.

_How’d your day go?_

The corner of his lips quirked up at the sight of the message – it was so characteristic of the other man. Simple, yet straightforward; it was something that Thranduil appreciated about him.

He put down the book in his hands to reply.

_Good evening. It was fine, although I was interrogated about our hangout on Friday._

He barely picked up his book again when the reply came.

_I take it you don’t go out very often?_

_No, not at all. This was definitely unusual for me._

_Ah, well. My children did the same, so I’m not really one to talk._

Thranduil smiled at that. _My son was the one who spilled the beans, as well. How was your day?_

There was a moment before Bard replied. _Hectic, as always. Mondays are awful at the office. I think it’s because everyone’s cranky about going to work after a weekend’s rest._

_I can’t blame them…although it would be nice if they weren’t so rude about it. I only give them coffee._

_Haha, you’d think they’d be thanking you instead._

There was a pause, and then another message popped up: _If I weren’t so busy, I would stop by on Mondays as well. To hopefully brighten your day a little, as much as I could._

Thranduil stared at the message, unsure of how to reply. It was heartwarming to see physical evidence that someone cared about his well-being, not to mention someone he had only met less than a month ago. His fingers hovered above the keypad, biting his lower lip as he considered his words carefully.

_You already have._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some serious slow burn going on here. strap on your seatbelt, kiddos.


	12. youth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introspection into what's goin on between the two lovebirds, and a timeskip. only a few months forward into fall! i'm not very good at specifying (or remembering) setting, but they were in summer previously.
> 
> thanks to everyone who commented/kudos/read the last chapter. i'm glad you guys still like it after such a long time ;u;

_My youth is yours, runaway now and forever more. My youth, my youth is yours, a truth so loud you can’t ignore._

* * *

 Thranduil awoke to a picture of a dog, sent as a message half an hour ago from Bard. _Always a good day when I see a dog first thing in the morning_ , it read, which brought a smile to Thranduil’s face.

They had gradually begun texting each other more ever since their Friday night _not-date_ , as Haldir called it with a roll of the eyes. Thranduil had never gotten much use out of his phone; he only kept in contact with the barest minimum amount of people, and said contact was usually a word or two of query when needed. It wasn’t as if Legolas texted him either.

Haldir insisted that he get a smartphone however, although sometimes it seemed like his goal in it was only to fill up his photo albums with nonsensical photos and selfies of nothing and everything. The phone was one of Haldir’s previous ones; unlike the majority of technology-adept society, Thranduil didn’t see the need to keep up with the latest and best models, and was content (and admittedly sometimes confused) by what he already had. However, he was now beginning to appreciate it a little more, if only because it allowed him to keep in contact with Bard more easily. At this point, they were sending each other random thoughts and comments daily.

 _I should’ve pegged you as a dog person_ , he shot back as a reply, and then proceeded to drag himself out of bed to get ready for the long day ahead.

As the days turned to weeks and the weeks turned to months, Thranduil saw the passing of the season behind the windows of his café, watching the leaves turn from bright green to golden and fiery hues and people begin to don scarves and heavier overcoats. He noticed a little less, however, every time a certain darkhaired man walked through the door of the café with a smile and a kind word of greeting.

Thranduil found that every moment he spent with Bard, he discovered more and more things to adore about him. How he was kind to everyone he met; how he strived to remember not only their name but the things they mentioned previously. How he preferred only a little milk in his coffee, but no sugar because he liked a pastry to go with it. How he would finish a book that Thranduil recommended and eagerly ask for his thoughts on it. How there was always a merry twinkle in his eye whenever he shared something that his children had done previously that week. How he would always try to make Thranduil laugh.

Along with Bard’s usual Wednesday visits to the shop, they had begun spending time together during the weekend as well – usually during the night when Bard was more free because he didn’t have work the next day. In the beginning, it was always Bard who asked, and he never questioned why that was – in the first place, Thranduil was the shy, introverted sort, and all _this_ , whatever it was, was new to him.

But gradually the blond began extending invitations to Bard as well, sometimes without even a plan in mind for they found that one of them would eventually have _some_ idea of what to do – even if that meant sitting in the café reading quietly, or talking over a cup of tea (one of the perks of being the owner). Other times, though, they went out and did something new, like a restaurant and then a slow walk home afterwards, or a new bar (these Thranduil liked less, and after saying so the number of times they visited bars went down considerably).

The last time, Bard dragged Thranduil to the aquarium, where he had a surprisingly nice time – there weren’t as many people as he expected, it being nighttime. They both agreed that the jellyfish were probably their favorite section, although Bard did like seeing the manta and sting rays as well.

“What’s your favorite thing about the jellies?” Bard had asked, and Thranduil glanced over to find him staring with the strange smile that he was beginning to see more and more (it wasn’t strange in a bad way; no, it was more that Thranduil couldn’t pinpoint the exact feeling he got behind the smile. It was like a mixture of fondness and something else that he couldn’t name, but every time he asked all he got was a denial that it was out of the ordinary).

“Probably the way they drift around without a care in the world,” Thranduil replied after a moment of thought, tucking his hands inside his coat pockets. It had been cool inside the building, and they hadn’t bothered with removing their jackets. “They’re very ethereal, but they don’t seem like they would give a hoot about that or anything else. I’m very jealous.”

Bard laughed at that (the laugh that Thranduil liked best, with his head thrown back and the sound coming from deep inside his stomach), and had grinned at him cheekily. “Don’t you already do that though? Might as well put you in your own special exhibit for people to admire and be envious of,” he joked, to which Thranduil had pretended to look deeply offended and moved on to another tank, Bard chuckling in his wake.

Thranduil didn’t know what to call this...relationship he had with Bard; they kept a balance between friendship and something more between them. He never could tell if Bard was flirting with him or just being friendly, but didn’t dare to question it. They both were careful to step around the subject whenever it came up, although there was also care to avoid that topic altogether. There was almost a _fear_ to put a name to it, as if defining whatever they had would somehow put an end to the balance they had built around them.

Some days, Thranduil felt as if he and Bard were standing on a very sturdy tightrope, but the slightest movement out of the ordinary would send them plummeting to the depths below. What was _in_ those depths, he had no idea.

It was a crisp, chilly day in October. Thranduil put the finishing touches on the latte art and set the cup delicately on the bar, declaring the order for the customer (he had just about perfected the movement of setting the cup and saucer without spilling a single drop, and he was secretly quite proud of it) before starting on the next cup. The door had been opening and closing constantly that day – they were surprisingly busy for the afternoon, although Thranduil supposed there was something about autumn that drove people outside into small shops and cafés. He was just grateful that the crowd began to gather _after_ Aragorn started his shift.

“Eight-ounce Americano, no room,” he called, setting the cup on the counter. As he did so, someone took up a seat at the bar and said, “Can I request something special with my order?”

Thranduil looked up from dumping out coffee grounds and a small smile curled around his lips. “Hello, Bard.”

The dark-haired man grinned at him from across the counter, chin in palm. “Busy today?” He asked.

“A bit, but manageable,” he replied over the whirr of the coffee machine, taking a moment to wipe his hands on his apron. “How’s work today?”

“Fine, thanks,” Bard said, and Thranduil glanced at him, taking in the tired eyes and pale face.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, hooking a cup and saucer out of the cabinet. The other man was just about falling asleep at the counter, watching Thranduil work with half-shut eyes.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Bard sighed, rubbing one eye wearily. “Been working out some troublesome things with another company, so I’ve had to work a bit more than usual but nothing I can’t handle.” He smiled, quick and reassuring. “Don’t look so worried. I don’t like seeing you so upset.”

Thranduil fought down a blush, but his ears felt warm nonetheless. He cleared his throat. “We can skip our outing this weekend if you’d like to rest,” he offered, topping the cup off with foam and placing it on the counter.

Bard shook his head. “No, I want to go out still. It’s not that bad, one night isn’t going to kill me.”

Thranduil still was unconvinced. “I don’t mind. I would rather that you rest than pass out from exhaustion.”

The other man laughed in amusement. “ _No_ , I wouldn’t. I enjoy our outings. I enjoy spending time with you – even if I had to tape my eyes open and drink ten espresso shots,” he added jokingly, which made Thranduil smile.

“I don’t think you’d have to go that far,” he remarked, looking down at his hands to hide the blush threatening to spread over his cheeks. Bard chuckled softly, and a warm feeling spread throughout Thranduil’s chest. Was it just him, or was that laugh tinged with fondness? If his face wasn’t red before, it certainly was now.

“Oh, but for you?” Bard began, and there was something lovely in his voice that made Thranduil look up, blushing be damned, and meet warm brown eyes with a soft smile. “ _Anything_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what i'm loving is how they're so obviously in love, but both of them are too damn shy to do anything about it. pls just get a room omg


	13. lose it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS I'M ALIVE
> 
> sorry for this super late update, but it's a bit longer so I hope it makes up for it?? i've been slowly working on it ever since the previous update so i hope y'all like it ;o;
> 
> brace yourselves.

_Wide-eyed, you look at me. Set on fire in a silver dream. Spin ‘round, you can feel the breeze. Count one, two, three._

* * *

 The Friday after their last meeting, Thranduil was preparing to go out with Bard again. They were undecided on where to go and what to do; Thranduil was fully fine with spending the evening at the café again, having figured that Bard was likely still exhausted from working constantly throughout the week, despite said man’s objections.

As he pulled on a sweater and freed his hair from it, a knock on the door made him pause. Legolas stood on the other side, looking slightly apprehensive.

“Legolas,” Thranduil said, surprised. While he and his son may have been less distanced than before, they still had little interaction beyond necessary. Legolas also usually went out for the weekends, and Thranduil felt a little guilty not realizing that his son had been home.

“Hey dad,” Legolas began, lingering in the doorway as if indecisive on whether to enter or not. Thranduil realized that he must be waiting for an invitation to come in, and he quickly gestured for him to enter.

“Come in,” he said quickly, scooping a long-sleeved shirt off of his bed to clear a spot for him. “You know you don’t have to ask.” He folded the shirt and tucked it away into a drawer before turning around. “Is anything wrong?”

Legolas, perched precariously on the corner of Thranduil’s bed, shifted awkwardly. “Nothing’s wrong, I was just, um. Wondering.” He paused then, and cleared his throat. Thranduil felt a tendril of fear crawl up his throat at his son’s behavior.

_Oh no. He hasn’t gone and gotten himself into some kind of trouble, has he? Like done drugs. Or gotten expelled from school. Or gotten a girl pregna-_

“Dad, are you seeing someone?”

Thranduil was so caught up in his thoughts that it took him a second to register what Legolas just asked. “I- what?”

His son reddened but continued. “I said, are you seeing someone, dad?”

There was a moment of silence as Thranduil tried to gather his thoughts. On one hand, he was glad that Legolas hadn’t gotten himself into any kind of trouble (although he still could have, and just not informed Thranduil about it), but on the other hand, he was incredibly unprepared for this conversation.

“I- well, not- no,” he answered finally, although it was hard to look his son in the eyes. It wasn’t as if he lied, though – he _wasn’t_ seeing Bard, no matter how much their interactions seemed to move increasingly beyond the realm of friends.

Legolas seemed unconvinced, eyeing him suspiciously. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Then, is there something that you’re not…telling me?” A vaguely uncomfortable look accompanied that sentence, and Thranduil realized that he and his son rarely showed much interest in each other’s lives beyond basic greetings, much less inquire after each other’s relationships.

The barista ran a hand through his hair, feeling conflicted and uncomfortable as well. He could almost hear Tauriel urging him to “take this opportunity to finally reconnect with his son,” but he didn’t feel ready yet. Thranduil could barely admit his feelings to _himself_ , much less his son whom he could barely hold a decent conversation with.

“No, Legolas, there isn’t,” he replied quietly, with an air of finality; Legolas didn’t look satisfied, but he dropped the subject all the same and stood, brushing strands of blond hair over his shoulder.

“If you say so,” he said with a frown. “Then, well. Have fun, er, whatever you’re doing.” Thranduil acknowledged him with a nod and turned back to his dresser when Legolas added, “Oh, and ada?”

The barista turned around abruptly at the sound of his son’s old nickname for him. “Yes, Legolas?”

The younger hesitated, then said, “Whatever’s going on with you lately, I’m glad that you’re happier now.” With that, he gave a small smile and quickly left the room, leaving Thranduil speechless in his wake.

* * *

 “Was this your plan all along?”

The question made Thranduil look up from the ground curiously. He and Bard were slowly making their way back to Thranduil’s house after spending the evening at a small restaurant, then tea in Thranduil’s café. All in all, a very relaxing evening.

“What?” He asked, confused.

Bard smiled. “This evening. We didn’t do anything but sit and talk.”

Thranduil pretended to look miffed. “And is there anything wrong with that? I found tonight to be very enjoyable, thank you.”

“Oh, I enjoyed it, don’t worry,” Bard amended quickly, looking a little sheepish. “It’s just that- on Wednesday, you were worried that I was working too hard. Did you plan this evening so that I wouldn’t be worn out?”

Thranduil let an innocent smile curl his lips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied with a light shrug, hands in pockets.

Bard rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same. “You really have no faith in me,” he laughed, running a hand through dark locks.

“I assure you, Bard, that I actually have the utmost faith in you,” Thranduil stated with a roll of his eyes. The former gave a light-hearted tug of the barista’s scarf, laughing at the indignant look sent his way.

“Really?” Bard teased, stepping out of the way when Thranduil leaned over to return the gesture. “I feel flattered. I’m happy you trust me that much!” He grinned as he nimbly evaded Thranduil’s hands, smile increasing at the blond’s efforts to catch him.

Thranduil huffed as his hand barely brushed Bard’s scarf. “I’m beginning to reconsider that,” he retorted, although there was no bite in his words. Their game of cat and mouse continued for a few more minutes, Bard’s laughter echoing off the houses they were passing. Thranduil found himself smiling as well, despite being out of breath (he really needed to get out more); when was the last time he let go and had fun like a child?

“Got you,” the blond exclaimed triumphantly as his fingers snagged Bard’s scarf, and the other stopped abruptly, causing the two to collide in a tangle of limbs and scarves. Thranduil’s breath caught at their close proximity, and they stood chest to chest for a long moment, breathing hard and faces flushed in the cold, before he began to pull away, afraid that Bard might push him away or be upset.

He was stopped by when he felt a pull on his scarf, preventing him from from moving. Despite being shorter than him by a couple inches, Bard looked up into Thranduil’s eyes without flinching, expression unreadable. “God,” the other breathed, so softly Thranduil almost didn’t hear it.

He didn’t reply, too busy wondering if the fast heartbeat he was currently feeling was his or Bard’s. They had never been this close to each other, never had held physical contact for more than a second, and Thranduil’s heart felt like it might leap out of his chest. He wanted to look away, but found himself unable.

He swallowed hard and began stammering. “Sorry, I should have- I didn’t-“

“I like you,” Bard interrupted, effectively cutting off Thranduil’s rambling. The blond froze and gaped at the other man, unsure if what he was hearing was reality. Bard took a deep breath, looking almost _afraid_. “I really, _really_ like you, Thranduil,” he continued. “Not- not as in friends, or acquaintances, but as in _I want to date you_.” A small smile flickered across his features and he laughed breathily. “I probably have since the moment I saw you,” he added in a soft murmur, before a worried look crossed on his face.

“Oh no,” he said, beginning to pull away from Thranduil, who had yet to move or say anything. The blond was in shock – never did he think that his feelings towards Bard would be reciprocated, and to hear the man himself confess that he felt the same was incredible to Thranduil. Feeling Bard move away snapped him back to reality.

“W-wait, wait, wait,” he said in a panic, grasping Bard’s arm before he could move any further. “I- I’m sorry, I was just- I didn’t expect you to- to say-” He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. _Why couldn’t he ever form the words when he needed to?_

“Bard, what I’m trying to say is- I- _I like you too_.”

Silence. The blond slowly opened one eye, then the other, to find Bard staring at him with wide eyes. He held his breath as a grin slowly formed across Bard’s face and a laugh escaped his lips. “Oh my God,” the dark-haired man laughed, and Thranduil felt a smile of his own start to form, cheeks flushed red. His hands slid down Bard’s arms to find his hands, their fingers intertwining together for the first time.

“Is this real life?” Bard asked, grinning brightly. “I can hardly believe it.”

“I know,” Thranduil murmured, still smiling. “I can’t stop smiling, my cheeks hurt.” They laughed at that, for the moment uncaring that they were standing in the street, and pressed their foreheads together, the laughter dying down to simply giddy smiles and linked hands.

“My God,” Bard whispered as they stood together. “I feel as if…as if I’ve been waiting for this since forever,” he finished softly, to which Thranduil hummed in agreement.

“I didn’t think you would ever return my feelings,” the blond commented quietly, and Bard squeezed his hands briefly. “I’ve probably liked you since the moment I saw you, too.”

“Sometimes, you just have to take the leap,” Bard said after a moment of silence. They looked into each other’s eyes again, and smiled again before Thranduil reluctantly pulled away, instantly feeling colder.

“We- we should probably be getting back,” he said, clearing his throat. He let go of one hand, but Bard tightened his grip on the other.

“I don’t want to let you go just yet,” he remarked, to which Thranduil blushed again. They began slowly making their way back to Thranduil’s house, neither wanting the night to end. Eventually they reached Bard’s car, which was parked out front.

“Well,” Thranduil said, reluctant to let go of Bard’s hand. The other laughed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I guess this is it,” he chuckled. They lingered for a moment before Bard leaned in, and Thranduil shut his eyes, feeling nervous all over again.

“Aw, isn’t that sweet?”

The duo jerked away from each other before their lips could touch and Thranduil froze, hardly able to turn around. He forced himself to do so, taking in the familiar, sickly sweet smile that the speaker had on his face.

“Smaug,” Thranduil whispered hoarsely.

“Now, now, Thranduil,” the man said. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you happy to see me?” He laughed, although there was no benevolence in it. “Did I perhaps come at a bad time? It was rather unannounced…” He smirked. “Although I had just expected to see you holed up in your house as always, too cowardly to go anywhere except your beloved shop.”

Thranduil felt his insides go cold and his hands go clammy. Beside him, Bard frowned. “Thranduil, who is this?” He asked warily.

Bard’s voice roused Thranduil from a frozen state of panic, although he was still trembling when he turned towards the other man. “Bard, I’m sorry,” he apologized quietly, steering them away from the presence on his front step. “You should probably go now. I have to see to my…my guest,” he finished with a grimace. Bard’s frown deepened.

“I’m not so sure I want to leave you two alone together,” he replied slowly with a glance at Smaug, who hadn’t moved from his spot in front of Thranduil’s house. “He doesn’t seem very…well, very _nice_.”

Thranduil smiled, or at least tried to. It was hard, when your gut was twisting itself into the most complicated knots. “It’s fine,” he reassured quietly, although pale in the face. “Please, just…” They had reached Bard’s car by now, and he gestured towards it.

The dark-haired man moved reluctantly, opening the car door. “I’ll call you,” he said to Thranduil before getting in. The blond gave him a thin smile, but didn’t respond.

“Good night, Bard,” he said quietly, and placed a hand on the car door. “I’m sorry it turned out this way.” Bard furrowed his brow, obviously still concerned, but entered the car anyway. Thranduil shut the door behind him, and watched the car slowly pull away from the curb and into the night.

“Rather cute, wasn’t he?” Smaug commented, peering in the direction that Bard drove off in. “You two looked close.” His lips curled into a sneer. Thranduil didn’t respond, only turned back towards the house. Thankfully, Smaug changed the subject. “Well, aren’t you going to invite me in? I didn’t think you lost your manners in the time I haven’t seen you.”

Thranduil drew in a shallow breath. He felt like he could barely breathe; the mere thought of letting _Smaug_ into his home, one of his only solaces, was awful. But he knew that refusing would only make matters worse, and nodded silently, making his way up to the door to unlock it. Holding the door open as the other man entered with a smug smile, the barista cast one last glance out onto the street before closing the door behind himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can u tell i love u all

**Author's Note:**

> please bear with me because this is the first fic i've written in like five years and i'm rusty as fuck


End file.
